The Brink of Our Forever
by Tanoshimi
Summary: WWII brings a young German soldier and a French shopkeeper together. It is of course wiser to stay uninvolved, but why do they seem so familiar to each other?
1. Chapter 1

Heads up: this was written before the earth-shattering reveal of Levi's full name.

Prepare for unevenly long and short chapters. Foreign languages courtesy of Google Translate.

Thanks very much for reading!

* * *

"…so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man." – Plato, _Symposium_

* * *

He is 15 years old, a boy haunted by life. Few things surprise him anymore, and sometimes he thinks that's a bit frightening—but it shouldn't matter. It is the year 1940, Germany almost has glory within its grasp, and all is on its way to wellness.

Even if he has been ousted from the Fatherland to the misty streets of some unpronounceable French village, trudging along in his ill-fitting uniform and looking every bit the picture of jaded desolation.

Out here, he rarely even hears a faint "Yeager!", something he'd used to dread back at the camp. And the inhabitants regard him as if he is… subhuman, with their wary eyes and indecipherable whispers. He reciprocates by standing up straighter, slanting his eyebrows down slightly—everything is for appearances anyway, including the too-big rifle that leans on his shoulder. He had been sent to France only a few days ago, along with others who were also told to "maintain order." But everything here pretty much keeps itself. The people go about their daily business; some even seem cowed. It's bit unnatural bordering on cruel, but he doesn't let himself linger on the thought. What Hitler does—what Germany does—is infallible.

Up ahead is a little old woman who is hobbling on the uneven cobblestones. He briefly debates surging past her, then decides not to because he doesn't need more murmured antagonism from behind. Plus she reminds him of his grandmother, or what little he remembers of her, back when his father would carry him on his shoulders and his mother's laughs were genuine. So he lags behind, listening to the comforting click of her cane on the stones.

However, they soon come in gradual increments—the conspiratorial mutters that he tries so hard to ignore. One from the man in the coat to his left, some from the pair of women that has just passed by. Eventually he realizes that they are looking at the old lady as well. What? Do they think he's going to do something to her? Spy on her? Trail her so that he can shove her into the nearest dark place and blow her brains out? His jaw clenches. Perhaps he really should speed up. But as he moves outward, preparing to bypass her, he wonders if that means that he has acceded to their taunts. He has dignity, after all. Perhaps that had been their plan all along—bait the German soldier, the outcast, and laugh at him from behind closed doors. Make him the mockery of the town, the fool of the Wehrmacht—

"_Pardon_." The voice is direct and clean, and it says one of the few words of French he knows. He moves back in to allow whoever is behind him to pass through. Although he feels a little embarrassed, he chances a sideways peek.

The man is small; startlingly so, since the top of his head is visible. He's rolling a barrel along, and whatever is inside it makes dull thunks against the wood. His is a brisk gait, and the boy sees his profile for only a few moments before it is blocked by passersby cutting across the path.

That man is strange. As soon as the boy had seen the straight nose, pale cheek, and storm-gray eye, a feeling that could only be described as déjà vu had washed through him. The sensation is faint, so he supposes he shouldn't pay it too much mind, except for one thing—he's never seen anyone even remotely like that before. Furthermore, déjà vu usually didn't linger this long, conjuring up thoughts that perhaps they had met in the past. Ludicrous! This was his first time in France and he'd only gotten to the village last night, when the streets were empty. He didn't suppose that the man went to Germany frequently either. Maybe his fatigued mind is playing tricks on him.

Somehow, he had walked far beyond the old woman in those last muddled moments. Was he unconsciously following after the strange new arrival? Well, he is gone now. But perhaps they will meet again, since it is such a small village.

Internally, he shudders.

* * *

The next morning, he wakes up and hits his head on the bottom of the top bunk. After gingerly fingering the sore spot and cursing himself out of bed, he heads for the lavatories. Most of his fellow "peacekeepers" are already in the cafeteria by the time he cleans himself up. He is greeted by a few sniggers and a heavy pat on the back by a comrade who is slightly more than an acquaintance.

"Did you sleep well, Yeager?"

"Course he did; he was still curled up so cozily this morning."

He grumbles a little. The guys here are all pretty much around his age, save for a few supervisory officers who sport gray in their hair. Most of the young soldiers are crowded along one table while the officers and a few obsequious or unlucky youths sit at the other. He supposes that he's fortunate to have been reserved a seat at the former.

The plate of rolls is passed to him. He takes one and immediately bites into it. Soft and warm. So even he can appreciate little things like this once in a while, stationed in a foreign country with a group of near strangers.

After breakfast, they assemble and receive their orders. He is to patrol the same area he was in yesterday. This time, however, he is assigned a partner: a tall, reticent boy who is probably a little older than him. Unexpectedly, the boy offers a small smile when they set out.

"Eren, right?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah. Ah…" Eren squints a little in concentration. "Bertholdt, right?"

The boy nods. They both laugh a little.

"Sorry, I'm not good with names," Eren explains. Though it's not entirely his fault; Bertholdt is usually in the shadows, perpetually behind a burly blond who is likely named Reiner.

"That's fine."

They don't talk until they get to the area, and even then it is just to sort out who will patrol where. He claims the street he was on the day before, the one where he met the old woman and the mysterious man. In the back of his mind, there is a tiny spark of anticipation. Will _he _show up?

As it turns out, he doesn't. There are no short, barrel-rolling males on the road today. Nevertheless, Eren's feelings have improved slightly; the whispers don't bother him as much. Maybe it is because he has a companion now, even if he is patrolling a few streets away. Bertholdt seems like a good guy. Perhaps he should get to know him better; Reiner too.

When the evening begins to manifest in pink-tinted skies, he supposes that he should start heading towards the meet-up point that he and Bertholdt had decided on. The air is fresh, smelling of the sea; he breathes in deeply. There are less people on the streets to scrutinize him, so he relaxes his rigid stance. The shops along the way are small with neatly arranged storefronts. Many appear to be closing up for the day. However, there is one further up that still seems to be open. Curious, Eren walks a little faster to reach it. Smatters of French drift out of the propped-open door; the voices of a man and a woman. The stranger pops into mind—why is that…?

His eyes widen as he looks through the window. The same black hair, pale skin, dark-brown vest—the man from yesterday is serving a customer, conversing steadily and professionally with her. Sweets line the glass counters that surround the store. A strange juxtaposition…

Suddenly, their gazes coincide. The man is still talking and gesticulating, but he is definitely looking in Eren's direction. Hurriedly, the boy ducks his head. Although their eyes had met for only a split second, it was enough for another wave of déjà vu, one even stronger than that of yesterday's, to sweep through him. This time, an accompanying image appears: a hazy vision of wings that is gone as soon as it comes. Not only that, but he feels dwarfed by the man in the shop; awed by his presence, and for some reason, by melancholy. It is inexplicable… but Eren somehow senses it in his very core. No, beyond his core—in a primal place of his being that he has never before tapped into, one that transcends instinct and possibly human existence. The feeling is terrifying yet fascinating.

Although he quickly moves away from the shop towards more familiar settings like the barracks, he vows to enter it in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day is a day off; Eren supposes that there's no urgent need to keep tabs on a village where nothing happens. So he wakes up late (this time, along with a few other boys), remembers to place himself a safe distance away from the bed before straining for the ceiling, and enjoys a leisurely breakfast served by the ample French housekeeper. It's the most idyllic scene: plates of dainty pastries and breads buttered with warm sunshine (he takes sparingly from those) and dishes of meats and boiled eggs being jostled from hand to hand (he joins the battle for these). If he tries hard enough, the keens of seagulls that cut through the air almost sound like swallow chirps from his hometown. And around the table, joking and yawning and stealing bits of morsels from each other, are his comrades. They look happy and hearty, tousled and playful. The camaraderie that pervades the atmosphere starts its slow effects on him; soon he begins to join in their discussions and lighthearted diatribes.

To his right are Reiner and Bertholdt, who he'd had a long talk into the night with about tips for handling arms. Granted, he hadn't learned much (he supposed he could just ask for a different rifle), but he had gotten to know them better. They are from the same town, for one thing, and seem like they would very much like to return. Both appear quite attached to each other—maybe a little too attached, Eren thinks privately, but all in all they seem trustworthy and that matters more.

After breakfast they are allowed a few hours of leisure. In the afternoon they must return to gather for a meeting with the senior officers. One in particular likes to lecture, so Eren figures he should spend his free time wisely and perhaps procure something to surreptitiously distract himself later on. He walks alone; despite feeling closer to the others, he still prefers solitude. His feet take him to the usual street, only slowing down when he has nearly reached the confectionery. He dithers a little before passing the large window. Yesterday's incident is still fresh in his mind, and he wonders if the man already thinks of him as a nuisance even without meeting him face to face. But surely he can't keep referring to him mentally as "the man;" that's insulting. So this is for the good of them both. He sucks in a large whiff of the healthful seaside air and walks into the shop.

It smells like chocolate and caramel and milk. But even though he doesn't like sweets, the sugary aromas aren't too overpowering, so he can tolerate them. The issue at hand is that there is no one here. Upon closer observation there are rustling, thumping sounds coming from the door behind the counter.

So, here it is: should he wait to finally meet this person or leave to save himself from potential embarrassment?

As before, he is interrupted from making a decision.

The shopkeeper emerges, clapping his hands together to clean them off and dusting down his dark brown vest. Every aspect of him is impeccable, from his neatly combed hair to his fully buttoned dress shirt to his pristine pants. He's even wearing a cravat. Eren experiences the now familiar sensation of inexplicable recognition while feeling incredibly small in his plain shirt and army-issued slacks. But the man's gaze is indifferent, as if a foreigner in ragtag dress is an everyday occurrence at his shop.

The subsequent stream of French that issues from his lips takes away all of Eren's confidence.

"Ah… _Excusez-moi?_" This time he receives a stare that makes him look away and have to suppress a blush. After a spot of silence, he hears, in adequate German,

"You came to this country without learning the language?"

How unexpected. The shopkeeper gave the impression of being so polite...

"I arrived a few days ago. I…wasn't informed about it in time." He'd been told on the day before departure, actually, and questions weren't encouraged at the camp. "But…how do you know how to speak German?"

"I learned it so that I could do business."

It isn't that the man's tone is nasty, but Eren can hear its mocking implications. He swallows blankly.

"…What's your name?" he blurts because he doesn't function well under pressure. To his credit, the man doesn't even raise an eyebrow.

"Rivaille. How may I help you today?"

His palms begin to sweat.

"I…" He leans on the counter to steel himself. "Have we…met before?"

Rivaille regards him staidly. The man isn't standing too far away even though there's a potential lunatic within inches of him, and Eren respects that.

"…Yes."

"Yes?" Eren's heart almost leaps out of his throat. His fingers scrabble minutely at the glass top.

"On the street once. And that time you looked into my shop."

He guesses that the deflation of his body is blatantly visible, as well as the escalating rosiness of his cheeks.

"Is that so…"

"It is," Rivaille agrees. "You seem like you were expecting more."

Perhaps he was, but in retrospect that is highly improbable. Now he is even more convinced that he is imagining things or that there is something wrong with his brain.

"Ah, no. Ah, thank you." Flustered, he almost leaves before remembering his manners. "Ah…I'll take some of those."

As the shopkeeper bends down to retrieve the sweets he'd randomly pointed at, Eren thinks that Rivaille must not like him very much. Their conversation hadn't started off with much finesse, for one thing, and throughout their short exchange the man's lips had been thinned in an unhappy line. After he pays for the little white paper bag that's handed to him, he leaves so fast that by the time he wonders whether or not Rivaille heard his murmured thanks, he is five shops away.

But it's not time to return to the base yet. Eren loafs about on the street for the next ten minutes, then makes a detour for the cliffs. It takes a while to walk there. He'd seen them briefly the night he arrived, and in the dark they were jagged jaws in the mouth of the bay. In the morning they are lightly fogged, brushed with a pale glow. Sparse brush fringes the edge. Soft roars fill his ears as waves crash against the rock below. He picks a spot that's relatively inland to sit down. The little white bag is placed at his side.

Eren is thrilled. Large bodies of water like this were so far from his hometown that he'd never been to one, never inhaled the briny mist, never seen the horizon as hazy as it is at the boundaries of his vision. He'd heard about these things from peers who'd had the assets to travel, but they were the type that was picked on by the neighborhood ruffians for being privileged. What they would say if they could see him now… Of course, that was if he ever got to go back to Germany.

He spends the rest of the morning dazzling his eyes on the glimmering water as the fog clears out. Come the afternoon, he slowly clambers up, filled with the sea, and strolls back to the barracks. Reiner and Bertholdt are among the stream of people trickling into the complex; the former raises a hand in greeting while his companion smiles. Eren nods back as he walks over to join them.

"Where did you go?" Reiner asks, once they've taken their seats at the dining tables. He shrugs.

"Just…around. What about you?"

"Ah…same. Bertl and I went around. The town." It seems that they all like their privacy, Eren concludes, just as the commanding officers start to enter the room. He suddenly remembers the bag in his hand and turns to the other two.

"Would either of you like some…" He checks its contents. "Chocolate?"

They decline politely with raised eyebrows. Eren looks away quickly and stows the bag out of sight. When he raises his eyes to the front of the room, the long-winded officer has taken the stand. He begins with an affected welcoming statement that Eren figures he can tune out. Instead he thinks about the little cubes of chocolate hidden partially behind his back, and how the confectionery had been outstandingly orderly. The floors were swept through and through, and the counters sparkled everywhere. He almost cringes when he remembers setting his hands on them, as well as getting the white bag dirty when he put it on the ground by the cliffs. Cleanliness suits Rivaille, not just because he arranges himself and everything around him to perfection but because Eren instinctively feels that it is so. Again, he doesn't know the reason for it. Where are these unconscious dregs of thoughts coming from? He focuses on the lecture to distract himself.

"We were sent here," the officer is saying. "To aid the Fatherland as it reclaims its due prestige and power. A great honor has been bestowed upon all of us; that goes without saying. We have been given the opportunity to make our marks by assimilating this new addition to our country's territory. You are the present and the future. With your efforts, we can erase the woebegone past and surge forth into the new Germany! We must thank our great leader for offering us the chance to unify in this time of recuperation; by working hard to attain the ideals of his policies, we can show our gratitude. Hail Hitler!" The ending remarks, followed by a round of applause, segue into the next speaker's presentation about rules. Eren ignores it.

Although he dislikes the stuffiness of the first lecture, he does have to admit that the idea of being able to aid his country is exciting. Armies are close to the heart of Germany, and as a member of the Wermacht he is nearer to the action than the average civilian. And if Hitler says that occupying France will help… Well, it can't hurt to try. Nothing can be worse than the years of his childhood, after all, when hunger ate at his innards and it was always so, so cold.

When the meeting adjourns, it is evening. All of the soldiers eat dinner and trundle off to the beds, making themselves comfortable to share their daytime adventures. As talk of girls and pubs goes on around them, Eren engages in a game of cards with Reiner and Bertholdt on the latter's bed (which is right next to the former's. Exactly how close are they?). He understands that this is a cover for the reticence that they all prefer, and sets his face into a concentrated expression while he contemplates other things: how his friends back at home are doing, what is happening in other parts of the world, where his father is. They are trivial matters, granted, but he wants to mull over them privately.

He slaps down a card only to realize that he has lost. Grinning sheepishly, he utters the first words to break the silence.

"I'm usually pretty good at these kinds of games."

"You hide it well," Reiner jokes, his voice cracking slightly from disuse. He and Bertholdt had had neutral expressions on the entire time. Presumably they were thinking about their own matters as well. Eren half-scowls before stifling a yawn.

"Well, I think I'm going to go to sleep. I'm kind of tired."

"That's a good idea."

Around them, the din is dying down. Boys are retiring to their beds; some are even asleep. Eren retrieves the white bag. It seems like a waste to just throw it out… He hesitantly pops a chocolate into his mouth. As expected, it is sweet enough to make his teeth tingle unpleasantly.

He finishes every one.

A few minutes later, when curfew is called and he lies in the dark licking chocolate off the back of his teeth, his flitting thoughts alight on Rivaille. The hands that make delicate confections are streaked with blood.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, he decides not to go into the shop. Instead, he takes time getting to know his patrol route. It was raining when he'd gotten out of bed in the morning; now it is drizzling. He feels self-conscious wearing his helmet out on the streets, so he chooses to go bareheaded. Tiny droplets of water pearl down the strands of his hair.

His area seems to be the commercial district of the village (if it can be called that). Tailors, hatters, fruiters, butchers, bakers; all have set up shop here, as well as their residences on the upper floors. Rain falls softly on rectangular baskets of flowers perched in front of high windows. Today, the scent of the bay is magnified, interlaced with humidity that wafts heavily through the narrow streets. The fishy smell combined with the gray day is a bit disappointing, but Eren supposes it's foolish to assume that good weather is constant here. Moreover, the village is quieter than usual. He is grateful because he can observe the people at his leisure, with less direct confrontation.

When passing the confectionery, he takes care to look straight ahead.

Beyond that, he crests to the top of a gentle slope in the road and carefully foots his way down the slippery cobblestones. There is a small, empty outlet to the side up ahead where the children play as their mothers shop; only a scattered few are there today, collecting wells of rain in their hands and gleefully splashing each other in puddles. Trees peek over roofs, their vibrant greens drooping.

It reminds him vaguely of home. The steep, gabled houses, the stony, mirthless streets, and his own measured footsteps clicking off the hard ground…the past clutches at him with a resiliency that brings him to an abrupt stop. He can't place whether this feeling is good or bad, but he can suddenly remember with astounding clarity. The itch of tears as he whined about increasingly smaller portions of dinner, the crackle of banknotes as his father pasted them over the walls of the house, the dragging weight of fatigue that threatened to stagnate him forever—

Eren blinks a couple of times before his legs resume moving. He hasn't had one of these episodes in a while. That era is now far away…but he can't forget the listless, moping child he'd been. He'd always been searching—for what, he doesn't know even now, but when he had been drafted into the army he'd been hoping for some kind of catharsis. Yet he feels a loss of purpose even in this place that is so far from home.

Ahead is another small, paved clearing. There is a lone streetlight in the middle, and that is where he and Bertholdt usually reconvene. However, Bertholdt isn't here yet; Eren assumes that he is too early and leans on a nearby building to wait. The rain keeps up a steady patter at his feet. By the time his partner comes into sight, much later and certainly past their agreed time, his hair is plastered to his head and his uniform is a shade darker. The other boy runs up to him, apologizing profusely.

"I'm so sorry, Eren, I lost track of time… How long have you been here?"

"Just a few minutes," he lies. "Don't worry about it." During the time he was waiting he has calmed himself, grounded by the cool, plopping water that pulls at his hair and clothes.

Bertholdt still looks awfully repentant, so Eren jokes with him as they make their way back.

"Did you find yourself a girl?" he asks teasingly, trying to throw an arm around the other boy's neck but only reaching his shoulders. To his surprise, his partner tenses up.

"Ah… No, of course not!" Bertholdt laughs weakly after an awkward moment, to Eren's relief. He laughs with him. It is like this, chuckling and stumbling about, that they meet Reiner, who cocks an eyebrow at them.

"Fancy meeting you here," Eren greets him, the coincidence touching off a slight suspicion in his mind. Reiner fusses with his helmet.

"I was a little caught up during my patrol. My partner left first."

Eren nods, wondering why both boys are so flustered. They continue the trek to the barracks together.

* * *

Days later, Eren regains the courage to enter the confectionery. He has planned out the conversation, beginning with an apology for starting off on the wrong foot and a transition into proper introductions, ending on a note that will hopefully make Rivaille more receptive towards him—he is even prepared to buy more sweets if necessary. So, after his patrol, on the border of evening, he strides to the shop with purpose (Bertholdt is usually late nowadays, so he figures he's covered for at least ten minutes). Fortunately, there are no voices coming from within. Eren steps over the threshold and—

"_Bienvenu. __Est'ce que je pourrais vous aider?_"

The person manning the counter is tall, with blond and dark brown hair. He has on the same vest as Rivaille (the uniform, probably), but the top button of his shirt is popped open and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Eren forgets how to speak.

"Ah…"

Not-Rivaille, who he judges to be around his age, repeats his rapid string of syllables with slight confusion. Eren regains partial control of his tongue.

"Rivaille?" he asks, not daring to use the limited French that he still has trouble learning. The other boy pauses before saying something else. Eren holds out for a brief moment to try to decipher the words.

"…Can you speak German?" he finally mumbles, defeated. Not-Rivaille falls silent again, and is it just his imagination or did his eyes turn flinty?

"Some."

Eren's eyes start to narrow as well.

"Where is the usual shopkeeper?" he inquires in a carefully neutral tone.

"My master is out on business. I'm looking after the shop for him."

So much for the plan. He suddenly feels quite disappointed.

"…I see."

"Maybe I can help you out," the boy says in a business-like but grudging manner.

"It's all right. I'll come back another time."

"What's your hurry?" The boy has an easy smirk on his face as he leans one arm on the counter. "Take a look around. Maybe you'll find something you like."

Eren snorts.

"What, are you lonely or something?"

"No, it's business." But he answers too quickly and unconsciously averts his eyes, so Eren decides to take pity on him. He slides his gaze futilely along the rows of chocolates. All of a sudden, a hand appears in his field of vision.

"The name's Jean Kirschtein."

Eren looks slowly from the extended limb to the face of its owner, which is split with a cocky grin. Despite himself, he smiles back minutely and takes it.

"Eren Yeager. You speak better German than you let on."

"I'm from Alsace."

Eren lets out a low whistle.

"That's pretty far from here."

"Yeah. But Rivaille's one of the best, so I came to seek him out." He suddenly looks grim. "That, and my family didn't want me to get drafted into the German army."

Inadvertently, Eren's eyes flick away. Jean seems to notice his discomfort and lets out an awkward laugh.

"See anything you want yet?"

"I don't really like sweets," Eren confesses, immediately regretting it when Jean's eyebrows rise.

"What are you visiting a confectionery for, then? Could it be that you really like the master that much?" His obnoxious chuckles die down when Eren flushes silently. "Uh…"

"No!" he finally manages to blurt out. "I'll be leaving now. Thanks for your help."

"Right... See ya."

He hightails out of the shop and beelines straight into Bertholdt. They both bounce back upon impact, wincing at each other perplexedly.

"What are you doing here?" Eren asks, rubbing the back of his head where his rifle smacked into him. Bertholdt looks abashed.

"You were late, so I thought I'd come to find you."

"Oh." His embarrassment snuffs out any further conversation. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Should we go back now?"

As they walk together, Eren realizes that Bertholdt now knows where he is most of the time. He feels a bit uncomfortable with that but figures that it shouldn't be of much consequence, unlike his conversation with Jean. Now the guy probably thinks that he's pining after Rivaille or something. Eren blanches at the thought. In the end, he's only managed to dig himself into a deeper hole.

Why, why hadn't he said something sooner?

* * *

On mail day, the tables are cleared after breakfast and two crates are set on top. The boys make a mad scramble for them until someone gets the bright idea of dumping them out. Now that there is more room, the frenzied jostling gives way to the rustling of paper and packages. Eren finds a box addressed to him hidden under a sheaf of letters and bigger parcels. There is an envelope attached to it, double-taped along all edges and probably glued too, as per his father's style. Both components hail from a small village in Southern Germany.

_Dear Eren_, reads the letter in a physician's script, once he has wrested it from its sticky vise and opened it in the semi-privacy of his bed. _How are you doing? I am currently tending to patients. It's nothing serious, just some outbreaks of the common cold, but the people here have less access to physicians now since—_here, a whole two lines was blacked out—_I hope that wherever you are, you are taking good care of your health. In fact, I only found out that you had been sent off from the camp just recently; sorry that I hadn't sent something to you sooner._

His father must have gone through some trouble to even send this package, since he is often traveling and has little time to catch his breath, much less write a letter.

_Have you made friends? It's good to have people you can get along with, especially if you are in an unfamiliar place. Mind your manners, and be respectful to each other; Mom told me to tell you that when I last saw her (by the way, she said that it might be hard for her to send you mail but she'll try her best). Personally I think you should do whatever you see fit. You're a smart, capable boy, so I know you'll stand your ground when necessary. _

_I'll tell you about the town I'm in, since you like hearing about other places. The people are all very kind and hospitable. Right now, I am living with a farmer and his family. There are two little daughters. They call me "Mister Doctor" and often beg me to tell them the stories that I told you when you were young. The wife is plump and jolly; she makes a delicious stew. My host is lean and weathered from his work, but he has great patience and goodwill towards others. This town is even smaller than ours. It's much more rustic as well; there are often chickens squawking about on the streets as their owners try to catch them. Once, I even saw someone leading a cow! It's a nice place to work because everything is quite tranquil, almost as if it is separate from the rest of the world. I hope that where you are, life is also treating you well. _

_As for other advice, I don't have very much. Above all, keep your values close to your heart. Don't forget who you are. The current situation is something you haven't experienced before, and you were thrust right into the middle of it—I'm sorry for that. _

His fingers make indents in the paper. True, he hadn't wanted to be stationed here at first; the town seemed so little and incapable of harboring action. Not to mention that he was leaving his mother alone in their house back in Germany. But it isn't so bad now. His mother doesn't seem too badly off. He's got friends, and then there's the confectionery… Bit by bit, the charm of obscurity has impressed itself on his soul.

_You will always be a part of this family. You will always be our son. We have faith in the decisions you make. That is why Mom and I hope that you will be your own man, so that you can fight for what you hold dearest. _

_Sorry for the short letter. I didn't have much time to write; I hope you understand. And it's all right not to reply to this one, since you must be very busy. I expect that the package I sent along will be useful. Mom sends her love. Until next time! _

Eren ghosts his thumb over the concluding signature. As usual, his father's letter is fraught with some deep meaning that he doesn't have the foresight to understand. Nevertheless, he takes comfort in the familiar penmanship and has to resist the urge to smell the paper for familiar scents.

He picks up the parcel that lies next to him. It is fairly large and flat and floppy; inside are two sets of shirts and pants, as well as gloves, scarves, and a cap. They will indeed come in handy, now that the winter is approaching. He still can't believe that it's been almost two months since he arrived. The little village is more familiar now, and the antagonism has died down, since life has unchangingly ebbed on. Patrols go on as usual; motivational meetings held by the superiors still take place every other week. And in regards to his relations with the rest of the troop—

"Yeager!" Someone—a guy named Müller—sticks his head in through the doorway. "Hoffman's parents sent a ham and he says we can all have some! You'd better hurry up before it's gone."

Eren smiles a little and stores the letter and clothes in his wooden chest before shoving it all back under his bed. As he leaps after Müller, he writes out the first part of his reply letter in his head.

_Dear Dad: I'm doing fine. Our troop is getting along well, so don't worry. I can't tell you where I am right now, but it's not a bad place…_

Later on in the evening, he gets the idea to visit the confectionery again. It has been a while since he's last gone in, after all. First he peeks through the window to check if Rivaille is actually present; there is the black head, bent over as the shopkeeper wipes the counter. Like the first time, he takes a deep breath before entering.

Rivaille instantly looks up.

"Hello. How may I help you?" he inquires, and one would almost think that he doesn't recognize Eren but for the fact that he says it in German. The boy swallows imperceptibly (he hopes, at least) and, clutching the strap of his rifle that lies tight across his chest, steps forward.

"I want to apologize for last time…"


	4. Chapter 4

The air is getting colder; maybe it will start snowing soon. Eren winds his scarf tighter around his neck and sticks his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat. He wonders what possessed him to visit the coastline on a noon like this. The skies are grey, the grasses brown, and not a ship is in view. Below, the dark waves crash against darker rock, sending up flecks of white foam—a spectacle he wouldn't have dared to come near enough to see a few months ago. He stands there, toes on the edge, and feels the freezing wind pierce through him.

In the morning he'd gone to see Rivaille again. Jean had been there too.

"I'd have thought young soldiers like you would have better things to do than visit candy stores," the shopkeeper had commented, emerging from the back room. "Especially on your time off."

Eren remembers his face coloring with heat.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what else there is to do." Hence the reason he'd been to the confectionery so many times already, and why its staff had given up the pretense of professional courtesy towards him sometime along the way.

"Maybe Jean can show you around."

The aforementioned person, who had just stepped out with a tray of chocolates, had peeked at them confusedly.

"Huh?"

Their gazes had locked; Eren had been the first to look away.

"Doesn't he need to work?" he'd mumbled petulantly, trying not to turn red at the memory of their first encounter. Jean, who had begun to transfer the chocolates into the counter, shot him a dirty look.

"He needs to enjoy himself sometimes too," Rivaille had said airily, and that was how Eren had found out about his sadistic sense of humor. "Anyway, the problem now is that we're on lunch break. You'll have to find another place to stay out of the weather."

"Ah…" Eren had felt embarrassed, especially when Jean had smirked at him from behind the glass. "All right. In that case, have… a nice break." He'd left, catching snatches of Jean and Rivaille's subsequent conversation about display arrangements.

On the upside, his comprehension of French had improved.

So now, he is stranded on the border of land and sea, mired in boredom. He thinks back to what Rivaille said about having Jean show him around. While it's too soon to be in such close proximity with the other boy, the idea of exploring the rest of the town is not bad. In all of the time he has been here, he has only traveled a little way off the cobblestone path. Perhaps he can go farther, to Bertholdt's route or even around Reiner's area.

His intentions turn out to be too optimistic. All of the streets look the same: stone and wood structures, trees, rough pavement underfoot. He almost mistakes a shop for Rivaille's. As he walks, he surmises that he has the better deal on patrol routes. Bertholdt must be bored to tears when he makes his rounds; he doesn't even have a nosy confectioner's apprentice to avoid. After sticking it out for a few roads more, Eren decides that it's time to go back. He's a bit lost, however. As he tries to retrace his steps, he thinks that this at least affords him some kind of entertainment.

This attempt takes thirty minutes, then an hour, and then Eren is finally forced to admit that he has no idea where he is. The mild thrill of wandering astray, along with his patience, has already died fifteen minutes ago. There hadn't been people on the streets either, so even if he knew how, he couldn't have asked for directions. Nevertheless, despite his fatigue and dwindling sanity, he forges on, blindly hoping that a miracle will happen. How mortifying would it be to have the rest of the squad sent out to search for him? He grits his teeth and wipes cold sweat off his forehead. Farther up is a little enclave where he can stand for a moment to catch his breath…

Someone is there.

His gait speeds up with his heart. The person's features become clearer with each step—it's an old man, gray-haired with white whiskers, sitting on a stool with his hands folded over the head of his cane. Eren nearly runs up to him; he regains enough composure to force the desperation from his face. Approaching the man carefully now, he clears his throat.

"Ah… _Pardon_…"

The man's eyes open slowly; Eren wonders if he has just intruded on a private moment. Nevertheless, he continues, even more timidly than before,

"_Où sont…" _What is the word for barracks? He wracks his brains for how to say "soldier" instead. "_Soldats—les soldats…allemands?"_

When the old man merely blinks, Eren licks his lips and opens his mouth to try again.

"_Allemagne… Les soldats…de Allemagne_—"

Suddenly, the old man seems to understand. He says something unintelligible and gesticulates behind him with one hand. There is a small, dark path there that is reminiscent of an alley; it seems so decrepit that Eren glances again at the man in surprise. He receives only a nod and more jabbing in the fateful direction, followed by, more slowly this time,

"_Les soldats allemands. Oui?"_

Since his silent plea for another way goes unnoticed, Eren can only follow the sinister, knobby line of the old man's finger. He marvels, however, that he'd managed to get his point across. Perhaps his erratic studies are paying off… Although his current route doesn't seem like one that would lead to the barracks. The old man had understood him, right? Looking around at the dank stone walls and weathered wooden windows, he tries to combat the unease rising in his throat with the optimism that he will see familiar surroundings soon. His attempts at self-persuasion grow increasingly weaker as he enters a new plane of wretchedly-preserved houses. The realization that there are no inhabitants along most of the—if not the entire—stretch of street sends a chilling ripple up his back. The gusty drafts of wind that envelop him are of little help. He can feel his courage diminish with the light of the sun.

A noise.

He whirls around, his eyes darting madly. There is no living creature in sight. After a few moments of unbroken quietude, he manages to face forward, although his breathing is quicker.

Then he hears it again. It is more drawn out this time, like a wail or maybe a moan. Whatever it is, it sounds rather…human. He takes a few small steps forward.

Eren stops when he reaches the dingiest house. It has no door, and the windows are covered in opaque dust and grime where they aren't cracked. The stone is so discolored that it looks almost like mud. And, if he trusts his sense of hearing, the sounds are emerging from its bowels.

He backs up into the street, craning his head this way and that. There is an old rake leaning against the side of another house. It feels rather flimsy in his hands, and he hopes that it will withstand at least a few cracks to the head of a potential assailant. He nears the house again and edges through the doorway.

Must and dampness saturate the air. Only faint rays of the waning sun make their way in, so his eyes take some time to adjust. The floor is covered with dirt and dust—but some of the filth has been displaced. Almost as if someone has visited this abandoned shack recently. He pauses to listen, gripping the rake tightly.

The sounds are faint, but definitely there. Not where he is, though. Moving very slowly, he traverses the dark boundaries of the room, sticking close to the sides. His groping hands eventually make contact with a doorknob. A door on the back wall? Self-preservation screams at him to get away, but at the same instant, noises louder than the ones from before materialize from behind the wall. They are emitted rhythmically, one after another, and the volume rises and dips. In fact, they are breathy sounds, somewhat like gasps. The ice in his gut melts a little as a flare of heat shoots to his cheeks. Could it be …?

He spends the next few seconds debating whether he should enter stealthily or aggressively. Frazzled nerves combined with a newly audible grunt from beyond the door push logic aside; he twists and wrenches the knob, which gives way to a disconcertingly loud creak, and runs down the revealed set of stairs. In those short seconds he muses that the cellar is strangely bright.

The first thing he sees is a pair of legs with pants half on, which are in the process of being hastily pulled up. They partially obscure a crouching Bertholdt, who is struggling to shove his feet into the legs of his trousers. Eren blinks once hard; his eyes open on Reiner's tense, frenzied face. The other boy's stance is alert, hostile, and defensive. His body is planted stolidly in front of the one on the ground. Their haphazard four-limbed shadow stills on the wall. No one speaks.

Gradually, Bertholdt rights himself, bringing his pants up and buttoning them.

"Eren," he breathes, and his voice is at once wary and plaintive. "Please don't tell anyone."

Reiner appears to be shocked back to life; he fixes his pants as well and takes a step forward. Involuntarily, Eren flinches back. Reiner's arm stops in mid-reach. It slowly falls back to his side. He looks away abruptly. However, Bertholdt sidesteps him and approaches Eren, halting once they are fully facing each other.

"Eren. Please."

Eren can't meet his eyes.

"Eren?"

"It's okay," Reiner interjects, startling them all. Squaring his shoulders, he makes his way up to where Bertholdt is, and then some. He levels his gaze with Eren's. It is tranquil; resigned, even. "We're lovers, Bertholdt and I."

Somehow, this hadn't fully registered in Eren's mind even though the proof is before him, half naked and lit up by two strategically placed flashlights. Now that it has been manifested in a concrete statement, the truth rams into his gut. He can't even bring himself to interrupt Bertholdt's mimicry of a dying fish, so nauseous does he feel. Reiner sighs heavily, shoving his fingers through his hair.

"This must be shocking, but try to understand." He eyes the silent boy before him. "Are you all right?"

How can he be so calm? Eren is still trying to process the fact that his closest companions are in an illicit, sacrilegious relationship, even though most of his functions have shut down.

"Is this why you've been late recently?" he sputters into the space separating them, his mind suddenly racing. It occurs to him that maybe the two meet up like this after every patrol, during every day off. And since that old man seemed to have a habit of sitting outside, it is no wonder that Eren was directed to where the "German soldiers" usually were.

Bertholdt nods guiltily, his choking noises having ceased. There isn't much more to say. Finally, Reiner rearranges his clothing, picks up the flashlights, and herds them all up the stairs and out of the house. When they reach the town proper, Eren thanks every deity that he knows that the old man is gone. They stay quiet for the whole way back. At the barracks, they silently part ways.

He broods well into the night. Part of him wants to forget everything that he saw; the other part rails against the egregious flouting of the principles that his teachers, the media, and the government have welded into his life. Homosexuality is a crime, punishable by imprisonment, if not deportation to a concentration camp. Isn't it his duty to serve the Fatherland and abide by its laws?

But he is not just a servant to the state. He is a son, a comrade, and (so he likes to think) a friend. Neither are Reiner and Bertholdt defined by their homosexuality; they too are people—better people than most, for their reliability and compassion and devotion and skill. In fact, he finds it difficult to believe that they are capable of such a transgression; both give off the impression of being loyal soldiers. They must know about the dire repercussions of committing such an act. So why do they do it? Is their attachment enough to override self-preservation? He can't even comprehend how two men can lust for each other, much less fall in love (if that is indeed the case).

All of this thinking serves to make him reticent at mealtime and quick to retire to bed. Whenever his eyes wander to the other two, their wary expressions, though not directed at him, spark new rounds of reflective crises that divide his morality. If he turns them in, he ruins them. If he doesn't, he knows neither how to face them nor himself.

Eren makes his decision at midnight. He wakes from dreamless sleep and peers at the two beds diagonally to his right. As expected, the occupants are still up. They are looking at him too; he almost shudders when he thinks about how long they might have been doing that. Even so, he points in the direction of the bathroom and waits until they register his signal, then climbs out of bed as quietly as he can and pads there on bare feet. All three meet in front of the sinks. Eren runs some water and lets it collect in his hands.

"I won't tell anyone," he mutters so softly that the splashing nearly covers up his voice. But Reiner and Bertholdt seem to understand, if their widened eyes are any indication. He nods once, then a second time with more conviction, looking straight at them. After a few seconds, Reiner's mouth sets into a grim line.

"Then we're united in this," he murmurs harshly. "Bound by sin."

Eren nods. He's already contemplated it. The secret should be easy enough to keep, provided that his two comrades are more discreet about their trysts.

He notices Bertholdt's morose gaze.

"I'm so sorry," the boy whispers. An automatic smile forms on Eren's mouth. He shakes his head dismissively and splashes the water on his face.

"All right, I'm going to sleep now. Good night." He doesn't dare look behind him as he dries off and quickly leaves the lavatories. Even when he closes his eyes in the dark of his bed, he keeps grimacing. It starts to hurt after a while; he focuses on the pain in order to ignore the involuntary disgust welling up in the back of his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Surveying the calendar on his nightstand, Eren reaches for it with something akin to regret and replaces it with a new one. He sits down on his bed with 1940 cradled carefully in his hands. The end of the year smells like snow and frying meat from the kitchen, laced with a faint odor of sweat. Outside, the sky is a shadowed curtain that will lift on 1941 in the morning. For now, though, he basks in the nostalgic melancholy that accompanies each December.

The turbulence of war has started to rear up. They are now allied with Italy and Japan, the bombings on Britain have intensified, and the United States will probably be involved soon. He supposes that these are important events, but here in this little town that seems so far away, he can't quite comprehend their magnitude. However, he does wish, in a deep recess of his heart, that the troop will be involved in some kind of action in the near future.

There are some direct effects of the global conflict, however. Food supplies are getting scarce; the supervising officers have mandated that meat be consumed only on special occasions. At first, he was thrown off balance by the sudden loss in his diet, but now he has become used to the breads and pastries that he once shunned. Others are restless too, he can tell; especially the villagers, whose animosity from before has revived. There are less of them now, since some have been sent to Germany to aid in production efforts, but the eyes of those remaining have become darker and fiercer, their faces gaunter. He's gone back to holding his rifle in his hands while patrolling, as opposed to leaving it strapped on his back. It is hard to be sure who is dangerous, after all, especially with the recently arisen trouble that has been taking place—

"It's happened again." Hubbub trickles in from the doorway as the rest of the boys return from dinner.

"What was it this time?"

"Kicked over some barrels. They're still trying to find out if anything was taken."

The barracks are being sabotaged. It's mostly harmless stuff, like graffiti or displacement of objects, but everyone is abuzz with frenzy and speculation. Who knows when the pranks will escalate into something more dangerous, after all?

"Did something happen?" he asks the nearest boy, feigning ignorance. The entire group answers him.

"Barrels—"

"So far, seems like nothing's gone—"

"Petty vandalism, wonder what they're trying to get at—"

He nods helplessly, leaning back a little.

"Are the head officers still checking things out?"

"Yeah. It's been a while, though… Bauer can probably tell us what's going on, that suck-up."

"I see." They continue to chat for a while, and then most of the group goes off to spread their gossip. Only Klein, a strapping fellow with strikingly shiny brown hair, remains.

"Hey, Yeager," he muses, leaning against the wall next to Eren's bed with his arms crossed. "Your dad's a doc, right?"

"Yeah," he replies, wondering why the normally gregarious boy is speaking in such a confidential voice. "Why do you ask?"

Klein's fine-featured face contorts with embarrassment.

"Well, it's just that… I've always been interested in that kind of thing. Physicking and what not."

Eren has to chuckle a little incredulously, but regrets it when Klein looks away, flushing.

"Is that what you want to do?" he coaxes apologetically. The other boy peers at him from his peripheral vision.

"When the war ends, I'm going to continue schooling. And after that I'm going to need to someone to study under." Now he gazes at him with the full extent of his eyes. "Yeager—do you think you can put in a good word about me to your father?"

Eren is taken aback.

"My father?"

"Yeah." Klein uncrosses his arms and turns to him squarely. "Dr. Grisha Yeager is the most famous physician in my hometown. It's always been my dream to work with him." His eyes, usually filled with a mirth that draws the rest of the soldiers to him, are now serious and resolute. Eren admires the light behind them, a little jealous.

"Well…yeah, sure. I'll tell him."

"You mean it? You're a real pal!" Klein claps him on the shoulder, grinning hugely although he still seems like he can't quite believe it. "Let me give you my address… wait here for a moment…" He dashes off to his bed on the far side of the room, disappearing as he ducks down; then he is back at Eren's side, holding out a scrap of paper. "Just write to me or something, will you? You really are a pal!"

"I will." Eren has to smile too. As he takes the paper and stores it somewhere safe, he can feel optimism bubble up through him. All wars come to an end, right? Hope is still alive. And when the time comes…

"It's dinnertime!" someone yells into the room. "Come on, you two!"

He jumps to his feet, nodding at Klein, and they leave together. On the way, he sees Reiner, followed as usual by Bertholdt. They catch each other's eye; Eren is able to maintain the line of sight with a combination of practice and will. The revulsion isn't as strong now, he notes with satisfaction. He languidly crosses over to them.

"So I heard something else was damaged?" he asks, unable to think of anything else to talk about. Bertholdt nods.

"Some barrels with food supplies were kicked over. The ammunition crates might have been tampered with too." His voice is forcedly casual. Their former relationship hasn't been repaired quite yet; both parties are still painfully timid towards one another. They are making progress, however. Eren makes a sound of understanding.

"…Is that a calendar?" Reiner inquires politely. Starting slightly, Eren suddenly remembers that he is clutching something in his hand.

"Yeah. I'm going to throw it out."

"I see. Ah… happy new year."

"You too."

As he passes by them to the dining room, Eren contemplates setting goals for 1941.

* * *

For the most part, life is achieving a rote, familiar pace. Yet Eren comes across a most bizarre spectacle one day. He draws near almost gingerly.

"Ah… Good morning."

Rivaille doesn't even look up from the lock on the door.

"Good morning."

"…You're closing up pretty early today." Eren notices a barrel and a box on the ground.

"It's market day at the farms."

The statement doesn't hold much significance for him, but he supposes that it means he has to go find something else to do for the day. Yet he doesn't leave; just watches Rivaille jam the door closed, curse at the "shitty old lock," and pull at the knob experimentally once he finally succeeds. It feels so awkward standing off to the side, but the notion of having to endure another eventless afternoon keeps him there for as long as he can.

Rivaille tilts his head up at him.

"You're off today, right?"

"Yeah."

The shopkeeper turns away to lay the barrel on its side, steadying it so that it doesn't roll off.

"You take that."

Although Eren is dumbstruck, he reaches for the burlap sack that Rivaille indicates with a nod. Then he hesitantly follows the man as he rolls the barrel down the street.

"Where are we going?" he asks Rivaille's back.

"The farmer's market. I thought I told you already."

"Right." He bites his lip. "That is… Me too?"

"Of course," comes the immediate reply. "I can't handle the barrel and sack by myself."

Eren wonders what Rivaille would have done if he hadn't happened to stop by the confectionery. Although he supposes that his trend up until now makes that seem unlikely.

"Where's Jean?"

"It's his day off."

He has to raise an eyebrow at that. Shouldn't the apprentice be helping his master with the heavy labor and picking out of wares? But he doesn't question it any further, because more time with Rivaille isn't necessarily a bad thing.

They walk for a while, crossing into the inner village that looks more and more rustic, until they reach a horse and cart parked in front of a house. Rivaille tells him to load the goods onto it; as he hefts the barrel on, he can hear the negotiations between the shopkeeper and a man who has just appeared. After he tosses in the sack, he sees some money being handed over and wonders if his journey stops at this.

"They're on the cart now," he tells Rivaille, who nods and makes his way towards the steering bench behind the horses. Eren stands there, unsure of what to do.

"Hurry up and get on. It's a long way to the farms."

He can't deny that he perks up at hearing the brusque invitation. It takes some legwork to lift himself onto the high bench; he looks over at Rivaille, who is already seated with the reins. The sight of such a small man lording over such big horses nearly causes him to chuckle, but something tells him that that's a bad idea. So he contents himself with watching the passing scenery, getting jostled with each clop of the horses' hooves and being distinctly aware of the steady presence beside him. They don't talk but the atmosphere remains tranquil.

Soon, they pass into a land of fields and farmhouses outside of the village, where cows lower their heads to graze and the insistent clucks of chickens resound throughout. Faint smells of manure waft towards them; Eren imagines he sees Rivaille wrinkle his nose. But as they go deeper into the premises, new aromas begin to manifest: the richness of tilled soil, the musk of hay, the fresh crisp of vegetables and fruits. Great piles of locally-grown wares come into sight, along with their proprietors. So this is rural France.

Rivaille skillfully guides the horses along the empty strip between the stands, casting his eye over both sides of the path. Eren is curious about this side of him that he has never seen before. Apparently, Rivaille is a picky shopper, since they pass by at least two similar fruit stands before he brings the cart to a stop beside one that sells the exact same products. He attempts to follow suit as the man jumps off, but is instead motioned at to stay put.

"Hold the reins," he is told before Rivaille goes off to haggle with the owner of some rather dusty looking apples. The transaction is brief, and before long they are pacing the road again with two new sacks of pears and plums. Over the course of the next few hours more accumulates in the back of the cart: honey, nuts, various fruits. At one point Rivaille buys them each a roasted cob of corn, and in thanks Eren helps him lift the bulkier crates and boxes into the back. The corn tastes sweet and slightly burnt. Rivaille catches him staring deliberately at the remaining husks in his hands.

"They used to be bigger," he comments after handing the reins to Eren and taking his first bite. "And there used to be more produce to buy. The farms are facing hard times."

Eren nods slowly. So this little village is affected by the war after all.

It is early evening. He glances back at their haul, noting that the barrel and sack from the morning are still there.

"What do we do with…?"

"You'll see," Rivaille replies mysteriously. He takes them deeper into the heart of the farms; it is even livelier there, with many people going to and fro carrying all kinds of parcels, pots, and animals. The cart stops at a farmhouse with rough-hewn walls and a brick roof. Three children are playing out in the front while a woman emerges from behind the house carrying a cauldron in her arms. Rivaille calls out a greeting; her face breaks into a ruddy smile and she shouts something back. Soon, a man comes out from the barn. He waves, and Rivaille gets off the cart. This time he allows Eren to do the same. They walk up to the man, who instantly starts conversing with the shopkeeper. Eren keeps to the side, feeling like a child waiting petulantly for his parent. Rivaille introduces him with a jab of his thumb sometime into the talk; he lifts a hand to be polite. After a few more minutes, the shopkeeper turns to him.

"Let's guide the horses to the stables. We can keep the cart there too."

Eren obeys him mutely, brimming with questions he doesn't dare ask for fear of being an annoyance. One does overflow from his lips, however.

"Who's that man?"

"A friend. He's letting me store my things at his place for the night."

For some reason, Eren has always thought of Rivaille as a loner—perhaps it's another byproduct of the strange connection that he seems to have with him—so learning that he does in fact have friends comes as somewhat of a surprise. They guide the horses to the stables and take out the barrel, which Eren now commandeers, and the sack, which Rivaille hefts over his shoulder. The man is waiting out front, and Rivaille takes this time to hand over the sack with a smile that's for more than just courtesy. Eren can't remember if he has ever been the recipient of such attention, but he supposes that it doesn't matter. He's not jealous or anything. The man takes the sack (now that he can observe it more closely, it's rather sizeable) with gratitude and heaves it into the house. In the meantime, Rivaille waves Eren over.

"Come on," he says, and just like that he turns on his heel, leaving the boy to roll the barrel after him in his wake. It's harder than it looks, and he wonders how much practice Rivaille needed to be able to move the large cask as fluidly as he does. Whatever is inside makes a dull sloshing noise all the way to their destination: a sort of town square amidst all the farms, where tables are being set up with food piled on them. Eren is told to set the barrel—the keg, he realizes—next to a pot of wonderful-smelling stew.

"Is this a festival?" he inquires, figuring that he merits at least some answers. Rivaille nods.

"They're always held during the market days." He goes off a little way, then swivels back to face Eren. "Well, knock yourself out."

"What?"

Rivaille stares at him.

"Eat, drink, flirt. Go on. We only have so much time before we need to go back."

The sudden freedom leaves him at a loss. He swallows heavily and, seeing that Rivaille looks kind of impatient, decides that maybe he could use a drink.

"…All right. Ah…" But Rivaille has already gone off. He's left to himself, stranded in a sea of people. After a moment of confused immobility, he remembers the keg and goes to fetch a drink. Someone has put some cups there; he fills one up halfway and tries a sip. It's beer, slightly warm and tumbled from the day's journey, but refreshing on the tongue. Finishing the cup occupies him for a few stretched-out minutes. Then he is forced to go around, observing the dynamics of the festival and attracting potential attention. Luckily, most of the people are busy eating or socializing with familiar faces; Eren takes the chance to immerse himself in the warmth of the gathering. There is a constant, happy stream of white noise in the background, as well as music from an accordion-fiddle-harmonica trio. Delicious smells permeate the air. The atmosphere is mellow and lively as more people arrive. He can't remember being to an event like this before but would like to preserve his memories of this one.

After a while, he goes to find Rivaille. The crowd is thick, however, and his apologetic jostling gets him nowhere. In the end, he is pushed into a rare open space where he decides to wait for the mob to thin out. There is nothing to occupy himself with except a platter of sugar-glazed tarts, so he just stands there trying to look aloof. Apparently he is a rather bad actor. A fat woman wielding a plate of baked clams shimmies up to him, bombarding him with well-intentioned but incomprehensible French. She brandishes the food at him, so he takes one with a mumble of thanks. Her keen gaze drives him to put it in his mouth, and he nods and makes a satisfied face in an attempt to stave off further interaction. The woman, however, takes it as a sign to grin widely and spew more lines that now sound like questions. He "ah's" and "um's" but she is undeterred, although by now his lack of answers is putting puzzled, concerned wrinkles between her eyebrows. Eren grimaces. The situation is getting out of hand—

"_Excusez-le. Il ne parle pas bien le français._" The unexpected proximity of Rivaille's voice causes him to jump slightly. His savior stands leisurely to his left, holding a cup of what seems to be wine. Before them, the woman attains a look of suspicion. She and Rivaille chat for a little more in words that are completely unrecognizable; Rivaille interrupts her from time to time and gradually, the woman's face becomes suffused with something like disdain. Eren gets the impression that something has gone wrong. He imagines that he hears the word for "German" being launched back and forth and bitterly notes the tightening whiteness of Rivaille's lips. Then the woman abruptly leaves to bring her clams and conversation elsewhere. For a while, Eren doesn't dare look to his side. He resists the urge to fidget.

"Popular, aren't you," Rivaille says, and Eren forces himself to slowly turn to him.

"Not really." Rivaille doesn't look too peevish, so Eren supposes he's off the hook for now. "What were you speaking in? That didn't sound like French."

The man regards him lazily, swilling the wine around in his cup.

"Breton. "

"Oh." He looks down briefly. "Ah, thanks. For helping me out."He doesn't hear Rivaille say anything, so he looks up out of curiosity—just in time to see a man carrying a gigantic barrel beelining for them. "Watch—!"

His hand shoots forth even as the exclamation tumbles out of his mouth. The world lapses into slow-motion; distantly, he feels himself pull Rivaille by the arm and step in front of him. He also sees the wayward menace advance closer and closer… and stop just short of them to set his barrel down next to a few other boxes. As time reverts to normal, his embarrassment steeps into a sinking feeling when he turns around and glimpses Rivaille's white shirt stained with red. All of a sudden he's breathing harder than he ever has, adrenaline shooting through his body and panic sharpening into a thick lance in his chest. A crumpled brown jacket and creased crimson shirt flash before his eyes; for a second he can see the deep red leaching into white pants laced with straps, the hard, grainy dirt that the legs are sprawled over, and the upturned wrist that no longer has a pulse. And somehow he knows that the maimed figure lying on the ground is Rivaille.

"—ey. Hey."

With the sound of that voice, the vision is gone. He blinks a few times so his eyes can focus on the person in front of him.

"Eren," Rivaille is saying with narrowed eyes. "Hey, are you okay?"

"...Yeah." He's still shaken, but he gains enough consciousness to realize that his face is scrunched into a stiff hold that he has to forcefully smooth out. His teeth hurt from the vise-like clench that they were in.

"You don't have to look so damned terrified. It's just wine." A grapey alcohol smell is arising from the liquid dripping down Rivaille's front. The man puts the empty cup in his hand down on the nearby table. There's a slight furrow between his eyebrows. "Although that was a waste of a good shirt."

"I—" He wants to explain, but looking at the Rivaille now, so unfazed and most certainly _alive_, he can't bring himself to describe the grisly image he has just witnessed. What keeps him from writing it off as a figment of his imagination is the sheer terror that had overcome him. He's never felt that instinctive, visceral sense of loss before. The strangest thing is his absolute certainty that Rivaille was the injured person, although he's never seen him in a brown jacket or weird pants or a pool of blood.

Rivaille has cocked an eyebrow at him. Eren shakes his head.

"I'm sorry."

"…You didn't have to pull me away. I would have been fine."

Eren frowns.

"…Yeah." He had felt a strong protective urge at the time, something else that is equally confusing. It isn't as if he and Rivaille are_ that_ close, after all. "Ah… would you like my…?"

Rivaille waves the proffered jacket away.

"It's about time we start heading back anyway. This feels disgusting." He picks at his wet shirt with distaste, and a surge of guilt rises in Eren along with the perplexity.

"I'll go get the horses and the cart," he offers quickly, setting off at a brisk pace. But Rivaille catches up to him.

"I'm going back too, aren't I? No sense in bringing the horses here." Despite his apparent revulsion towards his drenched garments, the man walks unhurriedly, barely raising up dust on the dirt road. Seeing his levelheadedness, Eren considers telling him about what really transpired.

"Back there," he begins, trailing off when Rivaille looks at him. He switches his gaze to the ground, opening and closing his mouth in consternation. His companion waits for a few minutes before stating,

"You don't have to say if you don't want to."

"I saw you dead," Eren blurts out, immediately wincing at the bluntness of his outburst. "I mean—I saw a…a…vision. Because the wine spilled on your shirt, and it looked so much like…. You—at least, I think it was you—you were on the ground covered in blood. You had a brown jacket, and…pants, with straps…" He wonders what kind of expression Rivaille has on. At least the ground seems to accept of all the nonsense he's blurting out.

It is a long time before either of them says anything.

"What are you, a prophet?" A snort from the other man.

Eren still doesn't look up. He feels his cheeks burn. However, he allows his line of sight to travel to Rivaille's shoes, which are still padding methodically along the road.

After another while, Rivaille speaks again.

"I didn't know you held such a grudge against me."

Now his eyes have to dart to Rivaille's face because that isn't true at all. He wants to say that he hasn't spent all this time visiting the confectionery, mustering up the nerve to talk to him, and putting up with his apprentice because he has a _grudge_ against him; he's drawn by the ambiguity surrounding him, intentional or not, that somehow links them together in ways that he can't comprehend, all because he felt from first sight that they had known each other before and if that's true, he doesn't intend to let this mystery go. He wants to tell him that being permitted to come on this outing made him indescribably happy, and that he feels like an overly attached puppy but that's okay because in the end, he gets to spend time with the person that evokes strange, sometimes upsetting, but nevertheless fascinating emotions from him. All of this almost rolls off his tongue before he spots the odd quirk to Rivaille's lips. At first, he wonders if Rivaille is angry at him; then he realizes that this is his way of joking. He laughs awkwardly. The shopkeeper drops the smirk but his eyes are smug.

"Your face was weird just now. Are you constipated or something?"

The day has drained him but Eren wouldn't have traded it for another. Seeing these different sides of Rivaille makes up for almost everything, even when they get back to town long after curfew and he's caught sneaking into the barracks. After being threatened with scrubbing the latrines the next morning, he goes to bed and, for the first time since he arrived, he dreams.

In the midst of a walled town he sees hideous giants with gaping mouths and bloody, grasping fingers. One of them picks up a woman and, taking her in both of its hands, pulls her apart and crams her halves into its hole of a maw. He doesn't feel fear or disgust at seeing her legs disappear down the gullet; in fact, sadness and intense anger mix within him, somehow propelling him through the air and over roofs towards the monster. In his periphery he spies a few other people, all wearing brown jackets with wings on the back, spurring into space with strange boxy machines strapped to their legs. He looks at his own hands and finds that he is gripping swords that look unlike any he's ever encountered. But his confidence is overwhelming; he will take down the monsters with these unfamiliar weapons. He nears his target. Raising the swords over his head, he whips around to the giant's back and—

"Yeager!" the boy in the next bed hisses. "Stop grunting, will you?"

Eren doesn't answer. Eyes wide open, he touches his neck with tentative hands to find that it is moist with sweat. He rolls over onto his side. His breaths are erratic, although he manages to keep them down to a nearly inaudible level.

An inkling of remembrance blooms into life in the back of his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

"He was planning this all along," Jean grumbles from his place in front, stalking moodily down the street. Eren snorts.

"Well, you can't do anything about it. He's your master."

"Yeah, but he's not _yours_. What made you agree to come?"

"…No reason." Eren looks away sheepishly. "Anyway, you should be glad for my help. You probably need it." His teeth twinkle at Jean's dirty look.

After getting over his initial embarrassment, Eren can admit that he enjoys these spats with the confectioner's apprentice. They've gotten progressively more used to each other, so now their talks have taken on a bantering tone. He trails slightly behind the other boy, his hands in his pockets.

"The town's gotten quieter," he muses.

"More people are being sent away." Jean's voice is grim. "The food too; I hear that in some parts, people don't have enough to eat." Although he doesn't accuse Eren of anything, they both know why this is happening: Germany needs more laborers and sustenance. Eren dismisses an irrational stab of guilt.

"Same for us," he puts in a little roughly. "We don't get as many rations anymore. They say the war will escalate any time now, and that more men are being relocated to the front."

"Tough."

Both mull over that. Eventually, the port that is their destination comes into sight, flanked by ships and seamen bearing chests and crates. Jean slows down a little, surveying the scene with a hand shading his eyes; he finally catches sight of whatever he's looking for and beckons at Eren. They scamper down to the water like children, although they manage to straighten up respectably once they reach the merchants. Eren assumes that the overall mood is pretty good until he sees Jean's face. Rapid French flies over his head; he catches the words for "sugar," "less," and "price." The merchant shrugs, and Jean's expression darkens. Nevertheless, two cases are brought out, money is handed over, and they are on their way back to the shop. Jean doesn't make a sound. Eren grows increasingly curious.

"What's wrong?" he inquires in a neutral voice that borders on apprehensive. His companion starts muttering lowly.

"The sugar supply is being limited, so the prices have gone up. _He_'_s_ not going to be happy."

While Eren has been spending more time with the confectionery's owner, he has never seen Rivaille upset before. Jean, who has had more constant interaction with him, probably has a better comprehension of his moods. Something like jealousy flares minutely within him.

And as usual, Jean can't contain his true thoughts.

"None of this would be happening if the Germans hadn't started this war!" he seethes. Automatically, Eren snaps back, surprising even himself,

"And they wouldn't have had to if the rest of the world hadn't ganged up on them!"

"Is that what they brainwashed you into thinking? Bullshit!"

"Anything is bullshit to the other side! Don't you know what we had to go through? There was nothing to eat; a loaf of bread cost double its weight in money! The winter was so cold, and we had no firewood. Everyone was getting sick." He gulps. "You wouldn't know how that feels."

Jean is quiet for a moment. At length, he admits,

"I can't say that I've experienced what you have. It's true that no one deserves to go through those things." His voice drops. "But you can't right one injustice with another."

Since he doesn't want to make an enemy of Jean, Eren chooses not to further the argument. Instead, he grudgingly says,

"Well, you and I aren't making the decisions. And it's not like we can do anything about it."

"That's where you're wrong." Jean's voice is superficially calm; Eren can sense its insidious hostility. "Maybe we can't end the war, but we can fight the enemy. In more ways than one."

They leave it at that because Eren is afraid of what he'll find in Jean's heart. Maybe the other boy is prejudiced, and maybe sometimes he's a little too blunt—but Eren wants to believe that he's a good person underneath all that bluster.

When they return to the shop, Rivaille is displeased but not as much as Jean had imagined. The other boy's demeanor lightens up, but the building sense of conflict lingers with Eren all the way to the barracks, where he digs out his father's letter. Clutching it tightly in his hands, he reads it again and again until dinnertime.

* * *

"Who do you think is doing it?" Eren asks one day. Next to him, Bertholdt shoulders his gun thoughtfully.

"Well, I don't think it's one of us, since we wouldn't sabotage the troop. So it has to be someone from outside."

Eren nods.

"I thought so," he mutters with a dark sigh. Hence the reason they are required to patrol in pairs now and why he hasn't been to the confectionery in a while. He imagines that Bertholdt (and by association, Reiner) can't be too happy either.

Autumn of 1942 is cast in gray, arriving with a biting chill that can't be alleviated by hot tea or mulled wine anymore. All that remains is ersatz, and Eren hasn't received correspondence in what feels like months (he supposes that he'd better keep his current clothes in good condition or learn how to mend them). Worse yet, the subterfuge at the barracks has worsened, as everyone has dreaded. Things are going missing now: mail, firewood, and especially food. Graffiti sometimes litters the walls, defaming Hitler and insulting the Fatherland in crude German. It's hard to feel safe nowadays. In fact, Eren much prefers being out on the increasingly empty streets, where he can be attacked directly rather than have his throat slit in the night.

Now that they spend so much more time together, he is patching things up with his partner. It's gotten to the point where he almost doesn't mind the relationship between Bertholdt and Reiner, except for the instances when he remembers that he is supposed to. But it's not so repulsive anymore, and it's not as if the two have changed any. So Eren works at tolerance, and he proudly notes that with a little effort, anything is possible.

The downside is that more time with Bertholdt equals less time with Rivaille. They browse past the confectionery like they do with any other shop, and Eren doesn't even look in. Perhaps it's due to the stricter timetables that have been implemented, but he gets the niggling feeling that it's mainly because he wants to keep his haven a secret. If he's really honest with himself, it's because he doesn't want to share Rivaille with anyone else. He realizes how irrational that is. There have been many customers before him that have probably actually bought things; not to mention that Bertholdt already knows about the shop. But he reasons that everyone has a place where they feel most comfortable. That's all there is to it: comfort, plain and simple. Maybe also the fact that the origin of his "memories" of Rivaille hasn't been resolved yet. Certainly nothing else. _Definitely _nothing else.

Speaking of the "memories," he's formed several startling correlations between them. For one, the strange clothing in both his grotesque vision of Rivaille and his dreams—he's figured that, in that hypothetical world, Rivaille was probably fighting the monsters along with the other leaping figures. Consequently, that meant that he and Eren were on the same side, since the boy can't forget the overwhelming bloodlust that consumed him at seeing the dream-giants. His overarching conclusion is that everything—the faint tinglings of déjà vu when he'd first met Rivaille, the subsequent visions that keep gaining clarity, the battle scenes that he increasingly often partakes in in the dead of night—is connected. He just can't figure out from where these unfamiliar images spring; he's pretty sure he isn't clairvoyant, so they can't be from the future. That leaves only the past, but that is just as impossible…

"When do you think our next off day will be?" he asks Bertholdt absentmindedly. The other boy seems surprised, but he offers a small, anticipatory smile.

"Soon, I hope. It should be coming up; we haven't had one in a while."

Eren nods again and, for the first time in weeks, glances through the window of the confectionery.


	7. Chapter 7

When he finally sets foot in the shop, he can't stop the deluge that rushes from his mouth. He tells Rivaille everything, from the sabotage to the flavor of fake tea that he had at breakfast.

"And it tastes so _bad_," he babbles. "But the scary thing is that I think I'm getting used to it."

After that, he finally runs out of words, allowing Rivaille to level his deadpan gaze at him.

"Why are you telling me all this?" the shopkeeper drawls, dragging his washcloth across the counter. Eren sucks in a breath.

"I…don't know," he admits, suddenly feeling the full weight of his garrulousness crash down on him. "Ah, please don't tell anyone."

Rivaille snorts. His lips are chapped.

"Repressed teenage boys these days sure are strange. When I was your age, I didn't go around spilling my guts to random people. And I thought that military matters were top secret."

"Well, they've got several candidates for the culprit already, so the sabotaging incidents will probably be resolved soon anyway. And I—I trust you," Eren protests, feeling a slow burn in his ears. "Ah… I mean…"

"You trust me?" Rivaille's voice is so strangely soft that Eren ceases stuttering. The suddenly grave atmosphere drains his red face.

"…Yeah," he says slowly, gauging the shopkeeper's reaction. "For some reason…I feel like I can trust you."

Rivaille's face is totally blank. Eren is at a loss for this utter lockdown of emotion. Did he offend him? He can't fathom how. The truth comes out worryingly easily whenever he's around the man. Much of that is attributed to the déjà vu; he wonders if he should have worked harder at reining it in. It's seeping into his life, and he doesn't think he can stop it.

"I should go back," he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Rivaille's eyes. The shopkeeper merely nods.

It's only when he's outside that Eren reflects upon Rivaille's tightly clenched fists, partially obscured through the counter.

He doesn't go back for many days after that. There's no opportunity to; the period between off days gets longer each time. But his burning curiosity won't subside, and he's not one to back down. He is determined to dig out the true feelings behind Rivaille's façade. Impatience stalks him for a good while, but finally, he's able to make a visit almost a month later. He assumes that the man has had plenty of time to melt that frozen look off his face. But it seems that Fate is rarely on his side because Jean is at the counter. The other boy raises an eyebrow.

"You look more ill-tempered than usual."

"Shut up," Eren bites back, and has to restrain a growl when he sees Jean smirk at the weak retaliation. "Where's—"

"Out," Jean interjects. "He had something urgent to attend to."

Although Eren understands that Rivaille has his priorities, he still makes a disgruntled noise. Jean regards him with amusement.

"You'll have to make do with me today," he says teasingly, leaning forward onto the counter. Eren sighs, but has to crook a grin.

"I guess there's nothing better to do."

With that, they wage a verbal battle that only ceases when a customer enters the shop.

Near the onslaught of the afternoon, when Eren is preparing to leave, Jean taps on the glass distractedly.

"Actually," he voices in a half-peeved, half-curious tone. "He said for you to come back at the end of the day."

Eren perks up.

"Rivaille?"

"Who else?" Jean snaps sarcastically, still fidgeting his fingers. "…But yeah. Around closing time, I guess."

"Do you know what for?"

"Beats me."

Eren is piqued, but there is no more information to be had from the other boy.

"All right then. See you around, Jean."

"Yeah."

He leaves, brimming with butterflies that he tries to net down with reality. Perhaps there is no real significance to the upcoming meeting; maybe Rivaille just wants him to help lug other heavy packages that he and his apprentice can't handle alone—that's happened before. But the man has never personally called him to the confectionery. His traitorous imagination dares him to think that maybe, just maybe, something big is going to happen. There's a tingle in his gut and he doesn't even mind that he spends the rest of the afternoon doing nothing.

The evening sky is close to black when he reaches the confectionery. He basks in the pool of light from the window before entering.

Something is wrong.

His first tipoff is Jean's worried expression as the apprentice stands off to the side. Rivaille is polishing the counter; he doesn't offer a word even when he walks in. Furrowing his eyebrows, Eren switches his gaze back to Jean and receives an equally confused look.

Eventually, Rivaille puts the cleaning rag down and bends below Eren's line of sight to put it away. When he reappears, he turns to his apprentice.

"You can go now. Good work."

Jean lifts a hand as if to restrain him.

"But…."

"It's fine." Rivaille's tone carries finality, and Jean has little choice besides leaving and shooting Eren a pitying, slightly suspicious glance. That leaves the two of them in the little shop. They finally make eye contact. Eren hasn't dared to approach the counter yet.

"Wait here," Rivaille tells him, going into the back room and coming out with keys. But while he's walking around the counter, his foot catches the corner and he stumbles. Eren darts forward involuntarily.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine." Rivaille curses sloppily, steadying himself as he stands up. When he walks past, Eren picks up a whiff of fermented, overripe grapes. He isn't sure what to do in this situation, so he stands beside Rivaille as the shopkeeper locks up and wonders where he can bring an inebriated civilian. The barracks are out of the question, and he doesn't know where Rivaille lives. Perhaps he can ask his fellow shopkeepers; surely they must know something…

"Where are you going?" he manages to ask when he realizes that Rivaille is receding into the shop.

"Home," the man answers simply, reminding him about the second floor. "Come on."

While Eren is relieved that they don't have to pick out the way in the dark, winding streets, he wonders why he is being invited into the man's private residence. He's never considered it before, but what if Rivaille has a family?

"Maybe I should go," he suggests, stopping in front of the doorway to the back. "You seem like you need some rest. And I have a curfew."

But Rivaille just stands there amongst the dimly lit equipment and supplies. As before, his face is blank. His eyes are trained on Eren, looking almost…expectant. The boy swallows and edges a step forward. He goes slowly up the staircase against the innermost wall, perpetually watching the form before him and putting up his guard to catch him, if necessary. Fortunately, they make it to the top, where Rivaille unlocks another door and steps through heavily. Eren pauses. He can leave right now; he probably should, and let the shopkeeper sleep off his stupor. But he's also interested in the motive that lies behind Rivaille's drunkenness, and that can only be discovered five stairs higher.

His feet take him into a small room with wood floors and a hearth. There's no fire but the lights are on, illuminating a square table and chair in the kitchen off to the side and two armchairs with a rug and another small table in front. It is a bachelor's pad through and through. A dim glow comes from behind the living room setup; Eren approaches it cautiously.

"Rivaille?" he calls, stopping about a foot away. It is an open door, and he averts his gaze from the room inside.

"In here," comes the reply (slurred, he realizes). He feels uncomfortable going in but he's come so far.

Rivaille's bedroom is as Spartan as the rest of his home. A desk, a full-length mirror, a nightstand, and the moderately sized bed that he is sitting on are the sole occupants. His back is to Eren, and he seems to be loosening his cravat with some trouble.

"Hey," he mutters. "Mind helping me out?"

Everything stinks of suspicion— Rivaille's straight-backed position, his unnaturally clumsy fingers, and the suddenly limpid eyes that he turns on him—but Eren might just be overthinking things. _What could happen?_ he thinks dismissively as he goes over and very hesitantly reaches for Rivaille's neck.

In a matter of seconds, his wrist is gripped and wrenched forward, flipping him bodily onto the bed with Rivaille looming over him. He hisses at the sting of sudden impact on the stiff mattress.

"What are you doing?!"

Rivaille doesn't answer (he's being awfully reticent lately); instead, he begins to tug at Eren's shirt. The boy's eyes widen.

"Get off," he grits out, thrashing around, still hoping that this won't turn into what he's afraid it will. "You're drunk!"

Rivaille pauses. He regards Eren with lidded eyes.

"I am, aren't I," he states soberly, and resumes divesting him of his clothing. To his chagrin, Eren can't throw him off, and because he wants to avoid suffocation, the shirt goes over his head. Then Rivaille slides down. Eren grunts as he feels his belt being pulled at; he'd like to kick, but his legs are being straddled. He gasps when the air hits his skin. His hands fly to Rivaille's head, which has lowered. Unintentionally, he glimpses fingers wrap around his half-hard weakness (when had that happened?!) and tears his eyes away. Wet, encompassing warmth descends, eliciting a hard tug on Rivaille's hair.

"Fuck," the man growls, sending vibrations into Eren's lower half. And Eren learns his lesson because he hardens even more at that. Fire engulfs his whole body, especially the place between his legs where it feels like the devil is lapping at him in sinful strokes. His grip loosens, allowing Rivaille greater rein. Eren shuts and opens his eyes intermittently. His gaze settles on the top of Rivaille's head as it bobs in and out of his line of sight. The pressure builds to an insurmountable height and he doesn't know if he can hold back a groan. Then Rivaille does something with tongue and teeth that snaps the spring in him and releases his mortification in one spurt as his held breath makes an audible escape. He can hear Rivaille coughing a little but he's in no condition to do anything about it, panting mess that he is. His mind is frenetically jumbled with shock and realization and pleasure. But Rivaille doesn't leave off at that; he undoes the buckle of his own pants with one hand while wiping his mouth on the back of the other. When Eren feels the friction between their naked skins, he manages a weak "Hey" that produces no reaction at all except for Rivaille putting fingers into his mouth. They come out slicked with saliva and connected to his lips by one thin shining strand that snaps when he brings his hand down to a place Eren won't look at. But he warily observes the wrinkle between Rivaille's eyebrows and the slight sheen of sweat that manifests on his lip. After a few moments, Rivaille lifts himself up slightly and shifts forward.

Despite himself, Eren gasps quite loudly when Rivaille lowers himself onto his dick. The tightness only serves to engorge him, and he can only watch as pained grunts slip from the man's mouth. If it hurts so much, his numbed mind wonders, why bother doing it? After all this time he still hasn't learned of Rivaille's motive, and here he is committing the same crime he'd been agonizing over with Reiner and Bertholdt a few months ago.

Eventually, he is taken in to the hilt. Rivaille's expression shows that he isn't enjoying this at all, and Eren almost wants to tell him that he doesn't have to do this—but then he begins to move. The electric thrill that ripples up and down his body is something that Eren's never experienced before. His back arches off the bed; he clenches his teeth. Rivaille's motions are agonizingly slow, so Eren grips him by the hips, fully cognizant of what he is doing and completely ashamed. When he pulls down too hard, Rivaille hisses and closes his eyes. Eren is bewildered because it isn't an angry noise; rather, Rivaille sounds almost as if he is being pleasured. Since he has no idea what to do, he gives into primal desire and moves his body accordingly, probably bruising the man's hips with the strength of his hold. The thrusting gradually accelerates to a white climax of starbursts and flashes. When he partially regains his vision, Eren finally looks at Rivaille's face, panting. It is strained with desire behind tightly shut eyelids; Rivaille's hand is moving furiously below, and Eren unintentionally lowers his gaze. The erection looks quite painful. He feels a little guilty, so he lifts his hand to help, wincing a little. Apparently his help isn't needed, because something splatters his chest. At that instant Rivaille's eyes snap open and he draws a sharp intake of breath between parted lips.

Suddenly, Eren remembers.

He recalls seeing that same expression on the battlefield, dabbled in blood. It takes a bitten-off arm to make Captain Rivaille show any sign of weakness; Eren retaliates with grieved fury, charging towards the titan that had been a person-sized space away from biting his nape. In the next moment he is driving his foot through the titan's skull, and after that he is hunched over the captain, belatedly cradling his head with one too-large finger to relieve it from its impact with the hard earth. Red seeps through Rivaille's shirt; one sleeve is missing. He is deathly pale.

Somehow, Eren is on his knees, closer to the captain now, having shed his huge body. He drags them both away from burning steam that smells of charred flesh. Heaving, he looks into the other's glassy eyes.

"You think you're all that because you can finally bust out of your titan form at will, huh," Rivaille deadpans. Eren laughs, eyes sweeping over the remains of his body that are evaporating on the field of the training ground.

"I think I might even be able to watch your back now, Captain."

"Small chance," Rivaille scoffs. "I bet I'll need to babysit you more than ever."

"Well, I'll protect you anyway."

Blood is staining the dirt a dark mahogany. The captain's legs aren't moving anymore. Shakily, Eren presses his fingers to the upturned wrist. He chokes.

"You want to go to the sea?" Rivaille asks in a genuinely interested voice that sets Eren's heart on jackrabbit leaps.

"And the land of ice. You'll come too, right?"

"Hmph. You're getting ahead of yourself. Didn't you say you wanted to exterminate all the titans first?"

"I will! So I hope you'll come with me when we succeed," Eren offers, watching Rivaille's lips quirk just the slightest bit as the horses approach the looming shadow of the wall.

He touches his forehead to the still warm palm on the ground, desecrating it with tears.

"Captain," he voices into the frozen atmosphere of the room. "What am I to you?"

"An irresponsible brat who should learn to follow orders," Rivaille snaps, whirling towards him so that the wings of freedom on his back are a blur.

"Not a…a monster?"

The captain's eyes still smolder. But his anger lessens notably.

"Monsters don't have to take account for their actions. You do," he answers wearily, and Eren realizes that he loves him.

He reverently lifts the hand of humanity's strongest to his lips and covers it with apologies.

When Eren regains lucidity, he is lying on the bed, staring at Rivaille's now-clothed back. He gazes at him, dazed into tenderness.

"Captain?" he murmurs. Rivaille stiffens and turns his head around.

"What was that? Oh, you're awake." He is stiffly buttoning his shirt all the while. "Why are you crying?"

"Huh?" Eren slowly brings a hand up to his eyes to determine that they are indeed overflowing. Rivaille stops rearranging his clothes, gazing at him with concerned intensity.

"Eren—Do you hate me?"

He stares at him for a few seconds. Then he grips Rivaille by the wrist and gently brushes his lips over the back of his hand. Tugging the man onto him, he catches him by surprise and tangles their limbs in an embrace.

"I've missed you." Pressing his nose to Rivaille's hair, Eren basks in the euphoria of reunion.


	8. Chapter 8

"Look at our shadows." Eren wiggles his arm, watching its silhouette undulate over the hazy black dome that is Rivaille's head. Rivaille scowls, making as if to remove himself from Eren's side. But the boy lunges for him and holds him in place, wincing at the sting that resurfaces in his rump. He marvels at how brazen he's become after only a few nights together.

"Shitty brat," Rivaille mutters, nudging Eren onto his side so he can massage his lower back. His fingers knead away most of the pain, and Eren wonders if he was this gentle in their past life. His eyelids threaten to close. Something occurs to him in a haze.

"Captain…"

"What?" Rivaille's confused tone jolts Eren back awake.

"Ah, I mean—"

"You're tired. Go to sleep," the man deadpans, allowing Eren to heave a silent sigh of relief. He closes his eyes again.

Does this mean that Rivaille doesn't remember? Is he himself the only one who can recall the past? Even Jean, Reiner, and Bertholdt spark vague little remembrances when he sees them, but they too don't seem to have the same epiphanies.

Rivaille stands with his back to him, obscured by a green cape emblazoned with wings and holding a sword in each hand. Eren looks around, startled.

"Where are they? It's too quiet," he mutters, surveying their surroundings.

"They've wised up," the captain explains, showing his profile. "Be on your guard, you brats."

Eren nods at his best friend, who stands to his left. He can't remember his name but his head is covered in hair of pale gold. When he turns back to the captain, he finds him replaced by his sister, who wears red around her neck.

"They're here," she says simply, and dissipates in a shower of blood. Suddenly Eren is high above the ground and he is ramming into titans left and right.

"For humanity!" someone exclaims. Jean runs beside him, gear poised at the ready and swords aimed to strike. Eren tries to tell him that the girl with the scarf is dead, but a gigantic, apelike monster is advancing towards them. He dashes towards it, pulling back his fist. Then he remembers that Rivaille is fighting alone; his hand drops, and he pivots around—

There is a firm grip on his shoulder. Eren shakes his head to clear out the sleepy fumes, blinking groggily at a concerned Rivaille.

"What?"

"You're crying again."

He silently wipes the tears away with the back of his hand.

"Strange kid," Rivaille muses as he pulls the boy's head onto his chest. But Eren merely falls asleep, lulled into fatigue by his own feigned ignorance.

* * *

The head officers look much graver than usual.

"As you've all probably heard," the troop leader says, stepping forward with his hands clasped behind his back. "A rifle is missing from our supplies."

A hushed murmur rises around the dining room. The leader continues, a little louder,

"We have reason to suspect that the culprit committing the ongoing vandalisms is the thief. And as we've already ascertained that it is the work of someone from outside the troop, I'm sure you can all understand that this is a dire situation. Furthermore…" He stops, tensing his stance. "Regulations have been tightening. Such things can no longer be allowed to happen, lest we be branded as…traitors."

The rabble rises in volume, and the rest of the officers gesture frantically to suppress it.

"From now on, we will be conducting surveillance of the premises," the leader shouts over the din. "Patrols will be taken throughout nighttime as well. For the well being of our troop, I hope you will comply with these actions!"

As they are dismissed, Eren glances at the faces of his comrades. They are worried, confused, irritated, excited. 1943 dawns on the escalation of the war. The brunt of the conflict has made its mark—in addition to the dwindling supplies at the complex, the village is also suffering. It appears as if fewer people remain each day, and the shops no longer have constant business. Even the sea seems sluggish, frothing weakly against the shale-colored cliffs. The new patrolling schedules serve to heighten the sense of dull danger. So, as usual, Eren spends his free time at the confectionery.

"There are rumors going around that we might be sent to the front," he mentions offhandedly to Rivaille, watching him place sweets one by one into the counter. The man's hands are still as slender and skillful as they were when he was a captain, although they are considerably less calloused. Eren feels a pang at that.

From the time they have spent together after the day of epiphany, he has gathered that Rivaille recalls nothing of the past. It could be chalked up to an impressive aptitude for lying if only he didn't show genuine confusion when Eren talked about titans and whatever else his admittedly limited memories contained. After suspicion started to manifest in his eyes as well, Eren had stopped.

"Okay." The nonchalant response splinters him a little more. In contrast to his first days as a soldier, he now has no desire to leave this place. Yet Rivaille seems apathetic… But since he no longer questions the sharing of mundane trivia, Eren likes to think that maybe he's growing on the man. He still gets the sense that there is large distance between them, and that is a disconcerting distinction from the relationship that he's pretty sure they'd had before. Moreover, Rivaille, who is already reserved, has become even more closed off as time progresses. The only time he lowers his defenses is at night, writhing under Eren's clumsy touch or driving into him with experienced abandon. He's also been out sporadically; more often than not, Eren finds Jean overseeing the shop when he visits. And of course, there is the question of why Rivaille offered him the temptation of his bed. He isn't so stupid to think that it was purely out of love, but…

Having nothing else to do, he leans against the wall, witnessing the man of a dream. The wings of freedom shine bright on the captain's back as he picks up a sheath. Eren stares hard at his familiar image, burning his figure into a human-shaped black spot that lingers in the light for the next few moments. When he finally blinks, he is back in the confectionery, and Rivaille is raising an eyebrow at him as he holds a tray in his hands.

"I'm okay," Eren says automatically. The other man looks at him for a few seconds more, then enters the backroom.

"I'm going to close up." His voice drifts into the main room alongside a muffled clatter. Eren wonders if he should feel as desperate as he does now.

"Do you need help?" he asks as a last resort.

"It's fine."

And with that, he is ousted from the shop, feeling more lost than he ever has.


	9. Chapter 9

In retrospect, they should have foreseen it. The atmosphere of the village had gradually taken a turn for the worse, and as the war ate up crops, clothing, money, and people, there was a palpable resentment that couldn't be ameliorated. Even Eren was starting to entertain some doubts.

Nevertheless, his mouth is the widest in the room when Hoffman stumbles back at dinnertime one night, bloody and groaning. Eren is one of the first to jump out of his seat, and he is among those who spot the livid lump that is Hoffman's left eye. Involuntarily, he gulps and then remembers himself. Two other boys lend their shoulders for Hoffman to lean on while someone else runs for the officers. By this time, a crowd has gathered around the three. The potatoes that everyone has been anticipating for months lay untouched on the tables.

Later on, after Hoffman has been escorted to the medic's and the officers have mandated immediate curfew, whispers begin to materialize in the darkness of the bunks. Eren doesn't pay them much mind until he overhears the word "rebel."

"I bet it was the rebels," someone is hissing vehemently. "They're getting antsy now, and they're taking it out on us."

"By ganging up on Hoffman,huh?" another scoffs. "What a bunch of fucking cowards."

And the muffled cacophony continues, but Eren mulls over what he just listened to. He's heard rumors of them—the French resistance of guerrillas that are popping up in the mountains and on the coasts. But to think that they are even in small villages like this one…. He feels a slow ebbing fire spread out from his chest and grits his teeth hard.

To think that anyone would prey on Hoffman, usually so mild-mannered and generous! To think that anyone would beat someone who was caught off guard. To think that anyone dared harm a soldier of Germany. Eren realizes that the heat in his body is rage.

His anger dulls the next morning but remains as an obstruction in the back of his mind. He and a few others pay a visit to the medical center. Hoffman looks terrible; framed in the scant light of the window, his cuts and bruises are magnified. The lump of an eye from the previous night is closed and ringed with purple and red. When he hears their arrival, Hoffman turns to them, rustling his sheets with the cast that covers his left arm, and grimaces with broken lips.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asks. Eren cringes at his failed attempt at lightheartedness.

"We thought we'd check up on you," Klein explains magnanimously, taking tentative steps towards the bed. "You seem better."

"Better." Hoffman barks a short laugh and returns his gaze to the window. "Maybe."

One by one, the boys line themselves up besides the bed, forming a protective, confidential wall.

"Hoffman," Müller murmurs, aghast. "What happened last night?"

There is some silence before Hoffman finally looks back at them. His good eye crinkles.

"I was returning from patrol. Werner had gone up farther ahead; I wasn't feeling well so I walked slowly. I passed by an alleyway, and they rushed me. Three men. They had brooms and metal poles." He coughs a little. "After that, I dragged myself back here."

"Damn that Werner," Eren grits, clutching his hands into fists. "But can you remember anything about the men?"

"They had sacks over their heads," Hoffman replies, wincing a little when he tries to shake his head. "And I couldn't get a good look at them, since they did this to my eye."

So the topic is dropped, and after a few moments more of condolence-giving, the rest of the boys depart. Eren stays a while longer. Even though he was never particularly close to Hoffman, he feels a strong kinship with him now, as a countryman and a comrade. The other boy is facing the window again. After a while, the atmosphere starts to get awkward. Eren wonders if it's time to leave. He licks his lips.

"Actually," Hoffman intones softly and suddenly, causing Eren to close his mouth. "There was something else about last night. I don't know if I was just hallucinating, but… I thought I smelled something sweet. Like caramel or chocolate."

Eren's heart drops to his stomach. He breaks out into a cold sweat.

"And the men. Were they… How tall were they?"

Hoffman doesn't answer him for a while. Then,

"Average height, I guess. On the tallish side." Confusion is evident in his voice, so Eren bids him a hasty farewell and leaves.

So it wasn't Rivaille, then. He is about to breathe a sigh of relief when he realizes that there is only one other culprit. But it can't be. How could it be possible?

Jean isn't a person who would do such things, right?

But only a person who spends most of his time working in a confectionery would have the sweet smell of candy ingrained into him. A person around Eren's height, maybe a little taller…

But the Jean of the past was a compassionate leader. What Eren remembers of him points to his upright character and strong sense of justice. He wouldn't have stooped down to ambushing a helpless person.

Yet he can't eliminate Jean from the list of suspects. And if that's so, then… this life is very different from the previous one. Jean is not the Jean who fought the titans alongside him, rallying morale and putting his comrades' lives before his own.

A chain starts to form in his mind. One realization links to another almost faster than Eren can keep up. But when his thoughts edge towards Rivaille, he shuts them down. Reality or not, he can't face it right now. And what should he do about the nauseating mix of anger and indecision that's roiling in his gut?

He blinks hard and makes for the bunks.

* * *

It's getting harder and harder to return to the barracks, but it is his turn to take the nighttime patrol. So Eren trudges back wearily, worn out from his latest encounter with Rivaille. This time, the shopkeeper had been strangely rushed; he'd been hustling around the confectionery, preparing it for closing just when Eren had arrived. They'd exchanged cursory greetings before RIvaille shooed him off. A misgiving that the man is keeping something from him weighs down his every step. And, as always, the fear of losing Rivaille again plagues his mind. Every visit dredges up a little more suspicion; combined with the recent events, Eren can't help but fear for the future.

Stepping through the door of the complex is like re-entering reality. There are noises, but they are mainly the sounds of the occupants going to sleep. He reports to the head officer for orders and meets his partner; they disband. The rifle has never felt so heavy on his shoulder.

Sometime towards what he guesses to be three in the morning, he hears a small bang in the ammunitions storage. He doubts that Wagner, who is guarding his own secluded area, heard it, so he grips his gun more firmly and makes his way there as quickly and quietly as possible. The door is slightly ajar; from far away all he can see is darkness. His footsteps echo through his ears and he pauses, wincing. He wonders if the thief is still there and decides that the element of surprise would be apt. The pounding of blood beats through his head as he wrenches open the door.

Immediately, a bulleting force barrels into him, knocking him into the air and down onto the stony floor. In his breathlessness, his eyes roll up and he catches the slightest glimpse of white. He tries to lunge forward as the offender dashes into the night, but his legs have liquefied and Wagner is worlds away and his rifle is jabbing into his gut and there's an ache deep in his tailbone. When he can stand again, he vaguely registers that he needs to notify his superiors. He meets Wagner while limping through the halls; the other boy says something but he ignores him. Once he reaches the closed wood door of the head officer's room, trepidation overcomes his hand in shakes. Nevertheless, he manages to knock.

"Who is it?" demands the sleep-marred voice from within the door.

"Eren Yeager," he calls back, holding his potentially broken rib.

"Yeager?" For a while there is silence; then the door opens, framing the head officer with tousled hair. "What happened?"

"The vandal, sir—in the ammunitions storage...!" He jumps out of the way as the man lunges into the hall with widened eyes. "He's gone!"

"Gone?" The head officer pivots back, his eyebrows slanted dangerously.

"Yes, sir…" He can't look up. After a while, he hears a brusque sniff.

"Did you at least see what the culprit looked like?"

"I—" He pauses, gauging whether his next response will cause an explosive reaction. "I didn't see his face…" The head officer's lip is curling. "But he had something white colored around his chest area! I think."

His superior still looks grim, but he nods and turns back into his room.

"Complete your shift. If anything else happens, notify me immediately."

Eren nods, remembering the pain in his side, and trudges back to his post. It is still dark, and not a peep has been heard from Wagner. Something in him breaks that night; he thinks that it might be his faith but finds out in the morning that it's his rib. As he sits in the medic's room getting bandaged up, he staves his heavy eyelids off by glaring into the blinding sunshine. After a while, spots form in his vision.

Against his better judgment, he forgoes rest in favor of going to the confectionery. He ignores the strange looks as he jostles past those in his way to the door. Something presses on his brain, a dark, niggling thought that sends him nearly stumbling into the shop (in retrospect, thank goodness that there are fewer customers nowadays). Perhaps he had expected to find reassurance there, but his unease only magnifies when he sees Jean standing in the empty room. Before the question comes out of his mouth, Rivaille appears from the back.

"Here again?" he remarks cooly, stepping out from behind the counter and heading for the door.

Eren's breaths tumble out of his mouth with increasing urgency. For a moment he can't hear anything but the beating of his heart. His eyes are fixed on Rivaille's spotless white cravat. Jean notices his unresponsiveness.

"What is it, Eren?"

He can't utter a sound.


	10. Chapter 10

The villagers are restless. It shows in the hollow, roiling depths of their pupils, and Eren has a feeling that his appear similar. The difference is that his eyes are carved by betrayal.

He's been antagonized by humans before, so fighting them is not an entirely novel concept. But he's never been on opposing sides with someone he's devoted his being to.

Not to mention that, one day…

"You're seeing someone."

Eren starts and whirls around from the washbin. Reiner coughs at him with the strangest expression of embarrassment and disapproval.

"What the hell, Reiner?" he whispers agitatedly, darting his eyes around to see if anyone else is in the lavatory with them.

"The thing is…" And now Reiner looks decidedly awkward. "Bertl told me. About you and that candy shop."

"What are you, spying on me?" Eren hisses, the tips of his ears reddening despite himself. "And who says I didn't just go to buy something?"

"You hate sweets. And you didn't come back one night." The other boy huffs. "Well, that isn't my point. Eren… You know that the head officers are getting worried about the vandalism and the beating. Hell, even the boys are, and they're taking things into their own hands by sniffing around. And—well, rumor has it that a resistance force has sprung up around this area. Some of the suspected members have been seen around that shop."

Eren wants to ask just who those suspected members are, but his nerve fails him. As usual, his mind threatens to shut down and let his tongue take over, but he realizes that he has to tread carefully now that he doesn't know who to trust.

"Are you asking if I know anything about it?"

"No." He almost breathes a sigh of relief. Then Reiner continues. "But others might. So you should think carefully about which side you're on."

Eren's lips curl into a snarl. Memories of a past life flash through his mind.

"What do you want me to say?"

Reiner begins to grow more animated as well.

"Everyone wants to save his own hide; I'm not above that. And maybe you don't consider us friends, but—just who is more important to you? Your comrades or that man?"

Eren's eyes swim in wounded white. His voice tears two ways to rebuttals, so he can't utter a sound.

"Fuck off," he finally mutters, veering off into the doorway of the lavatory. His eyes immediately jump to the space below his bed. His father is a fucking clairvoyant, wherever he is, and he desperately wishes that he were here to help him puzzle out this moral conundrum because he is fairly certain that his father will accept him unconditionally. He can't say that for anyone else, especially not Rivaille, who is even more elusive than the mirage of the past.

It's difficult to admit that the singular entity who's been on his mind for the past few months is so foreign. He recognizes that this Rivaille is not the one he remembers, but they look so similar. Sometimes even their mannerisms are the same; that is when pain wells up in Eren's chest as a warning that he shouldn't hope for more. And yet, he stays steadfast to the renewed promise he'd made on that day of epiphany—he will guard Rivaille unthinkingly, unflinchingly. A German no longer, he is Eren Yeager, and he has been given another chance to fulfill the vow of a past life.

Indeed, things would be easier that way.

Knowing that Rivaille is not the captain has caused him to question his own authenticity. Through a fog, he remembers that Eren Yeager lived in a town walled by fear, nurturing in his heart his life's goal of eradicating the race of titans that had murdered so many. But he has broken free from the constraints of home; his mother is not dead, and the enemy is another sect of mankind. Certainly the situations Eren Yeager had been exposed to are much different from those of his own life, be it the people they met or the experiences they had (he can vaguely sense that Eren Yeager had a violently tumultuous childhood, and the feeling is enough to make him shudder). One could even conclude that they are different people entirely.

If this is so, then… does he even have the obligation to save Rivaille?

He can't forget his grievous childhood. He can't forget his nationality. He can't forget Klein who wants to be a doctor or Hoffman who is still recovering or Reiner and Bertholdt who regard him with such frightened eyes. There is much at stake here; saving one means giving up the other. If he and Rivaille are so different from the people of the past, perhaps their ties are cut as well. Something niggles at the back of his mind: a wisp of a thought that the past and the present are too distinct to reconcile.

For some reason, he was allowed to keep his memories over different lifetimes. Surely there is a purpose for that, and he is almost certain that it has to do with Rivaille. Yet his fate had landed him in the most difficult of circumstances—wartime on the opposing side, laden with loyalty to comrades and country. Eren doesn't know what to do.

Ultimately, it is this uncertainty that stops him in his tracks when he finds the person he least wants to see at the base the next morning, cuffed and surrounded by soldiers.

"Rivaille!" His voice is too loud and too wrong. Everyone looks at him. The head officer narrows his eyes.

"Do you know this man?"

Eren's tongue is drier than the stale bread in his hand. He wonders if he can charge at the men, break Rivaille out, and spirit him away. His fingers clench around the piece of rye, which he erratically guesses can temporarily blind a soldier if thrown hard enough. But he spies his comrades in his peripheral vision. They stand stock-still, shocked. He swallows painfully, finally looking at Rivaille.

The man appears indifferent, as usual. There are no traces of a scuffle; could it be that he came willingly?

"Yeager." The head officer's voice commands his attention. "Do you know this man?"

"You can't take him," he blurts, stepping forth only to have his path blocked by his superior. "He—"

"Don't you get it yet?"

The cold, clear voice stops him in his tracks. Rivaille is staring at him, frigid in his apathy.

"…What?"

"I said, don't you understand?" When he merely continues to gape, the man blows air from his nostrils in one irritated huff. "It's time to face up to the truth."

He wishes that, if only for a moment, the world consists of only the two of them so that he can attempt to comprehend what Rivaille is saying. However, the officers, finding an opportunity in the silence, start hustling Rivaille away.

"Stop it!" he shouts, flailing hard against the solid wall of the head officer. Somehow, he gets away and sprints.

"Yeager." A commanding voice stops him. He doesn't turn around and only stands there, clenching his fists against his sides.

"I have to get him."

"Would you sacrifice the lives of the troop for his?"

He doesn't answer. His fingers feel arthritic, but he keeps digging his nails into his palms. Dimly, he watches the amalgam of Rivaille and the two officers get farther away by the second. They don't look back once.

"Yeager?" This time, the head officer's voice is gentle. Tears of ire rush to Eren's eyes. He watches Rivaille disappear because they will never meet again.

"…No, sir."


	11. Chapter 11

A pall has set over the world, curtaining the front in gunpowder gray. He supposes that he is lucky for having been sent here just recently—four years from the time he first entered that small French village. In retrospect, he should have treasured those days more.

His interrogation had compensated for the head officer's uncharacteristic gentleness on the day of Rivaille's arrest.

"What is your relation to the suspect?" the man had asked icily, sitting across from him with his hands lodged flat against the tabletop.

"I was a customer at his shop," Eren had answered. He'd barely managed to keep himself from flinching when the head officer had lunged across the table, livid. They'd stared into each other's eyes for a few tense moments.

"What are you keeping from me, Yeager?" his superior had eventually mused, his face suddenly lapsing into thoughtful blankness. He'd sat back down, his arms crossed. "You've always been one of the most loyal soldiers."

Eren had been disconcerted by the sudden praise. It was a stark contrast from the half hour or so of insults that he'd endured. He'd kept quiet. The head officer had eyed him tiredly.

"I don't want to do this. Believe me; what joy could I get from interrogating a kid like you? And you're all just kids in the end." His eyes had swiveled away, and Eren had wondered what he was getting at. "They call them the maquisard. They're rebels, you know. And you're not one to betray the Fatherland. So what was your motivation in trying to save one?" Then something had seemed to occur to him, and he'd looked back at Eren in shock. "It couldn't be that… you and him…? No. Of course not," he'd corrected himself, shaking his head a bit.

Eren had swallowed a sigh of relief. It would have been quite the ordeal to explain just what had gone on between him and Rivaille—as if he hadn't spent countless nights puzzling over it himself. The truth seemed to be that he had been genuinely betrayed; perhaps Rivaille had slept with him to throw off his suspicion. Purely strategy. And yet…

"So what is your relation to him, Eren Yeager?"

"I was a customer at his shop."

The head officer had given him a long, hard look. Then he'd let out a disgruntled noise.

"I'll give it to you; you're tough to crack. As was the shopkeeper."

"Riv—the shopkeeper?" His mouth had gone dry.

"Yes." Alighting on this new weakness, the head officer had smiled for the first time. "We interrogated him too, of course. He held up admirably under the torture. Surprising for such a small man."

Eren had begun to stand up as murderous intent surged through his veins.

"The only thing he had to say about you was that he took advantage of what he could."

At that, his body had sagged, suddenly depleted of life.

"We gathered that someone had to have been telling him about life in the complex. He knew we were doing night patrols—no wonder he evaded us for so long—but he'd been in a rush that night. He was sloppy."

Eren's body had frozen up. He'd vaguely recalled snatches of conversation over the counter, trivial bits of small talk that hadn't meant to be manipulated.

"But he wouldn't tell us who the spy was, no matter what we did to him." The glare that the head officer had shot him revealed exactly whom he suspected the culprit was. "And without evidence, we have nothing."

The rest of the interrogation had been drowned out by the relief that had washed over Eren. Relief and…

His throat slowly constricts. This Rivaille was not the captain he had loved, but Eren was still saved by him in the end. He can't understand it. Was it pity? Were the dim nights above the confectionery results of pity? He hasn't allowed himself to even imagine that his feelings were reciprocated. Or could it be that traces of his Rivaille still remained and he was too dense to notice?

Eren doesn't want to think anymore. He huddles in the dank trench, flanked by the rigid warmth of the other crouching bodies that were damned to death. How many times has he done this already? He doesn't even know the names of his fellow soldiers. As one of them, an academic type with shoulder-length blond hair and mild blue eyes that he has to try hard to forget, had told him on the first day,

"It's better not to get close to anyone."

Not that he has the will to do so anymore, because it's so hard to discern enemies from amongst humans. He thinks that the world of titans might have been an easier place to live.

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he'd never met Rivaille. Maybe he would have been able to feel more like a part of his troop. Maybe he wouldn't have discovered Reiner and Bertholdt's secret. Maybe he would have been able to die without regrets. But the more he contemplates it, the more improbable it seems. It was a very deliberate coincidence that they had managed to reunite amongst all of the people populating Earth. He'd forgotten it at the beginning, but his promise to Rivaille binds them still, like the strongest magnetic attraction. It is why he is still here as Eren Yeager and why he is the sole possessor of the fragments of the past. It is why his mind has canceled out full recollection of past comrades, focusing instead on Rivaille.

And he has failed. Rivaille is gone now, perhaps borne away on the concentration camp trucks that had been lined up outside the complex that day. Or maybe he's dead from torture or labor. Eren only hopes that someone has managed to escape the viciousness that pervades the world. Reiner and Bertholdt—maybe they've made it back to their hometown, as they'd wished? Or perhaps Jean (misguided as he was) was able to elude the authorities and put his apprenticeship to good use? But what of his own parents, who will live with the ghost of their son for the rest of their days?

"What's that?" someone to his far left suddenly whispers. Everything goes quiet. Gradually, Eren detects a slight whistling from above. By the perplexed panic on their faces, he ascertains that the others have too.

"Oh God," the boy next to him whimpers. "Oh God."

The whistling is getting louder, closer. Boys are starting to scramble from their locked positions, futilely running up and down the narrow trench. Cries saturate the air, but that high-pitched whining dominates them all.

He remains in his upright fetal position, arms clasped around his knees, pins and needles stabbing at the soles of his feet. Closing his eyes, he evokes a sunny morning. Light pools onto the confectionery floor, drenching his legs in warmth. He can feel the cold glass of the counter on the undersides of his wrists. Rivaille stands before him, smelling of chocolate and subdued cologne. A tiny, awkward, beautiful smile sits on his lips, and the corners of Eren's own mouth turn up. Next, he calls up the image of the incomplete body of the captain, steeped in blood and dirt. The agonized expression on Rivaille's white face, the clamminess of his hand, and the frenzied heaving of his chest that gradually subsides into a still plane—he forces himself to remember it all, and he can taste warm, wet salt on his lower lip. Finally, he clears his mind of everything except a singular, all-important vow that he repeats in a murmur escalating to a shout. As the shriek of the falling bomb and the yells of the doomed soldiers deafen him, he prays to every deity that he knows for another chance.

"Please, I—!"


	12. Chapter 12

Fall is his favorite season because the weather is just right—not too hot, not too cold. He takes one hand out of his pockets, flexing his fingers and turning his palm up and over. His scarf, coiled around his neck, is silky warm. As he rounds the corner of Bryant Park, he notes each red leaf that drifts through the sky. Green is his favorite color, but red is just as well. Mikasa had said that it suits him, since he's pissed off most of the time.

He sneezes a bit, pinching at his nose crossly. That had been once! And in his defense, the TA had been singling him out for the entire recitation.

He sneezes again. His favorite café is just up ahead. The tables outside the shop are empty, just the way he likes them. He's always preferred to take his coffee in relative privacy.

As he approaches, he spies someone coming towards the shop from the opposite way. The person is wearing a peacoat of a distinctive forest green, and he's rather short. His stark black hair contrasts with the green coat in a way that titillates Eren's artistic senses; he wonders who the man is. He can't see his face quite yet, but if they get a little closer to each other…

His foot misses a step and he stumbles at the entrance of the café. The man, who is right behind him, crooks an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" Eren rights himself with a hand on the brick wall and slowly turns to face him. He looks into the slate irises opposite him and inhales quickly. "You—!" _Are quite handsome_, he wants to say.

His belated embarrassment is alleviated by slight relief, since the man also appears to be confused. Maybe a little surprised, even, almost as if he's just remembered something.

"Maybe…" he says slowly, taking his hands out of the pockets of his peacoat. "…We should talk inside. It's fucking windy."

The expletive thrills him in a James Dean kind of way. Eren complies, averting his eyes to the ground. He notes the merging of their shadows into one as he holds the door open. When the man steps in and the door closes after them both, he sticks his hand out.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Eren Yeager."

The man looks at him as if he can't quite place his existence, but completes the handshake.

"Levi Rivaille." He doesn't let go. "Have we… met before?"

Eren narrows his eyes a little because in that moment, something flashes through his mind, and he feels a tug in his chest. He offers a polite smile.

"I'm not sure. Um…" He fishes around for anything to say. "Very few people know about this place. Do you come here often?"

"Relatively."

"I see."

Levi scrutinizes him for a while. Eren can't help but think that those lost, grasping eyes are somewhat familiar. Maybe they've seen each other on the college campus before? Or perhaps as strangers in the street?

"Espresso."

"What?" He notices Levi's face subtly compose itself into a determined blank.

"I usually get an espresso. You?"

"Ah. Well…" He feels around his pockets for the scattered bills he threw in this morning. "The house-style latte, mostly…"

"I'll get the drinks, then."

"You don't have to do that—"

"I want to."

Then Eren can only catch his words in his half-open mouth as he watches Levi's back approach the counter. He supposes that it's his duty to find a table and can't make up his mind as to whether the current situation is favorable or not. There's a nice little corner where they can have a private conversation in full view of the baristas (safety first, after all); he makes his way over to it and waves at Levi when the man finally turns around.

"So…" he dithers when they're finally across from each other. The steam from his latte tendrils into the sun. Levi stares at him, then into his tiny cup of coffee.

Now that they're this close, Eren can see his companion's tongue habitually moistening his lips. The elegant curve of his narrow eyes is framed by short black lashes. There are beads of sweat on his nose.

Like dust in light, the ghosts of memories sift into his consciousness. They swirl in the current of Levi's exhale as the man refocuses on him, awkward but determined.

"You ever have dreams, kid? Of war, and of big, ugly giants…."

* * *

Originally written for a tumblr SNK Big Bang.


End file.
